Striking Distance
by sdbubbles
Summary: It's January 2009, and the UCOS team have been handed the cold case of Jocelyn Sharpe's disappearance. Both in London, for UCOS, and in Washington, DC, for a team at the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, shocks are in store - on a personal level for some. But, will they find out what striking distance really was for Jocelyn Sharpe?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I thought I would try this and see where it goes. Please do tell me if it's worth continuing.**

 **Sarah x**

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"Sandra," came the voice of Robert Strickland. "I've got an urgent case for UCOS. Jocelyn Sharpe."

"The woman who went missing last year?" Sandra asked, confused that Strickland would ask her to involve her team in the case. "I thought they would have found her by now, sir."

"It's proving more difficult than could have been anticipated. It's almost like she just ceased to exist on May 14th last year."

Sandra set her mug down on her desk, frustrated that he was giving her a case when she was already up to her neck in cases, not to mention the team she had to deal with. "And why aren't the Americans looking for her?"

Strickland sighed, and Sandra knew she was being more difficult than was strictly necessary; she just didn't think it was her responsibility to track down Jocelyn Sharpe. The woman was American. The USA had some force behind its police departments, so why was the case being bundled on a team of three retired, ageing detectives and their long-suffering commanding officer? "She has multiple sclerosis, Sandra, and therefore is vulnerable. She's been missing eight months. I think it's high time someone set their mind to finding her, and so does the Commissioner," he added, to which Sandra narrowed her bright blue eyes.

"Hold on," she interrupted his spiel, "this came from the Commissioner?"

"Yes. He thinks it would be unwise to leave a case of this sensitivity unsolved."

"Alright," Sandra huffed. "We haven't found our next case yet, anyway. Where's the file?" He lifted his hand from behind the desk and handed her a thin file. She flicked through it, and immediately understood why it was so difficult to track down Jocelyn – the file was sparse at best, and useless at worst. There was little to nothing to go on. "This is going to be easy," Sandra muttered, her words swimming in sarcasm. She wanted to tell him exactly where to go with the case, but then she deemed it unfair to Jocelyn and anyone who cared about her not to take it on.

"I never said it would be a simple case, Sandra. If it were that easy, she would have been found a long time ago."

"Alright, sir. Leave it with us."

"I have no doubt you will get to the bottom of it," assured Strickland. Sandra just nodded, looking at the missing persons photograph as he walked away. Jocelyn was a pretty woman, aged forty-five, with sparkling green eyes. Her hair was her most striking feature, along with her bright smile.

She wandered through to the main squad room and put the photograph up on the whiteboard with a magnet. This was not a case she expected to be able to solve without a great deal of effort and frustration; she was not as confident as she normally was taking on a case, because this was damn near impossible. The original investigating officers had found it impossible, after all, and they had launched a full scale operation to try and find Jocelyn.

She was acutely aware that Brian – the only other person in the office right now – was watching her. His eyes were burning her back, and so she had to turn around and look at him. "Don't say a word, Brian," she warned him. "This comes straight from the top."

"Jocelyn Sharpe," he began, his obsessive memory kicking into gear. "Aged forty-five. American. Became a British citizen in 2003. Disappeared on the fourteenth of May, 2008. No family to speak of, and only two close friends. She's got MS, hasn't she?"

"Yep. Where are Gerry and Jack?" she demanded. They had been gone for a good while now, though, admittedly, she had not been paying them enough attention to know exactly when they had left.

"Getting lunch."

"Oh," was her only response. She hadn't realised it was that time already, having just finished the paperwork for their previous case of a triple homicide. Well, it could never be said that this job was boring. Quite the contrary, really. It could become so exciting it became stressful. It was how she managed to forget lunch and lose track of the lovable rogues she called her team. Only a week into the year 2009, she had done both on the same day. _Good going, Sandra_ , she thought to herself.

She returned to her task of finding Jocelyn, trying to work out where to start. There was absolutely nothing to work with. Her bank accounts just stopped being used, as did all her utility companies. Her house was rented, the lease paid off the day before she vanished. She had withdrawn the entirety of her savings account on that day, too. She had not left the country, because her passport had not been used, and she would have found it difficult to travel any distance with the effects of her illness, anyway. She had no enemies. She lived a life so quiet that she was barely noticed. Her only friends had been two colleagues in the small shop in which she had worked. Not a trace of any kind of family, here or in America. It was bizarre. Unnerving.

In trampled Jack and Gerry, Gerry complaining loudly about traffic while Jack reminded him the he could expect nothing different in London. "All that for a few bleedin' baguettes," he moaned. Sandra turned and found him handing out filled baguettes, just as he caught sight of the whiteboard, which was now covered in various photographs and documents relating to the case. "We ain't been lumbered with that, have we?" he grumbled.

"Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning?" snapped Sandra, fed up with Gerry's sour mood today.

Gerry was taken aback by her remark, his face adorning an obviously surprised expression. Whatever he had expected, it had not been to hear his boss say that. And, in his defence, it had been a good few years since she had come away with anything nearly as coarse as that to him. But he was a man of the world and there were not a lot of things he hadn't heard or said himself, so he could take what she gave him and shut up.

He said nothing and threw a baguette to her with a slight glare. It was something Sandra was accustomed to, having worked with him for a long time, but it made it no less infuriating when he took to being an aggravating old sod. Oh, how she would have loved to have slapped him sometimes. When she had first recruited him, she had made a not-so-idle threat to Jack that she would deck Gerry. It was a miracle she had not succumbed to that temptation in six years of working with him, especially having watched his womanising ways.

Sandra ignored his demeanour and returned to her work, with more important things to think about than Gerry Standing's crap attitude. She had learnt to tolerate it. Embrace it, even.

For now, she was focussed on Jocelyn's case, and so she examined the bank statements again, only to find nothing of interest. A bill paid to Sky, another to BT, another one paid to British Gas, one to the council, another to Vodafone, weekly wage payments, and Disability Living Allowance...all the normal, mundane stuff a current account was used for. There was nothing sinister or even remotely abnormal.

"Come to think of it," began Brian, "she looks familiar to me."

"Of course she does, Brian," sighed Jack, groaning as he sat down at his desk. "Her face was plastered all over the place for weeks after she vanished."

"No, I mean I know the face from somewhere else," retorted Brian, his frustration becoming visible in his eccentricities. Sandra stared at him; she had known Brian Lane long enough to know that, nine times out of ten, his memory was spot on, even if it took him a while to fully recollect what was there. So, she did trust that there was something Brian would no doubt recall in his own time, useful or not.

Sandra looked at Jack for some assistance, but his face was blank; she had known Jack Halford for more than half her life, and he was somewhat like a second father to her, but even he was as befuddled by Brian as the rest of them. "Right," she eventually huffed. "We'll go and see Georgina Toley and Katherine Black. They were her only friends, after all."

"After lunch, Sandra," Gerry grouched. "Even Superwoman needs to eat." Had he not wrapped that comment in a blanket of sarcasm, she would have taken it as a compliment. However, Gerry seemed to remain in a bit of a foul mood, and so was not going to be dishing out compliments – particularly when she had just introduced him into the closest to an impossible case to which they had come in their years of working the Unsolved Crime and Open Case Squad.

In response, Sandra just made a face at him and bit into her baguette.

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 **Please feel free to review and tell me your thoughts!**

 **Sarah x**


	2. Chapter 2

**A,N: I'm keeping the chapters kind of short, between about 1500 and 1700 words, because I don't want to give everything away all at once. I hope you don't mind that! Thanks to those who have read and reviewed so far.**

 **Sarah x**

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It was in the home of Georgina Toley that Sandra was able to fully understand the magnitude of the task she had undertaken. Even Georgina, who was one of Jocelyn's closest friends, knew very little about the woman's life. All she seemed to know was the obvious – that Jocelyn was American and that she had multiple sclerosis.

"Is there anything, _anything_ ," emphasised Sandra, keeping her voice gentle, "you remember that might help find her? Even the tiniest thing?"

Georgina was silent, and Sandra could tell that she really was trying to recall every encounter, every conversation, she had with Jocelyn. "Not really," Georgina sighed, pushing her blonde fringe out of her eyes. "She's a very private person. She won't even say how she ended up living here. I've never heard her talk of any family whatsoever. As much as I love Jocelyn to bits, and as much as it frustrates me sometimes, I've learned to accept that there are things she won't discuss."

It didn't escape Sandra's notice that Georgina referring to Jocelyn in the present tense, like she was still there, or was just away on holiday. But there seemed to be no real trace of acceptance that there was a chance Jocelyn may never be traced, or that she might not even have survived these eight months. Georgina, it seemed, did not even want to acknowledge that as a possibility. It was a classic case of denial.; it did nobody any good, particularly Jocelyn. But, despite her refusal to accept the reality in front of her, there was no doubt in Sandra's mind that Georgina was being entirely truthful.

"Is there anywhere in the country you think she would've wanted to run to?" Gerry pressed; he was irritating, yes, but even Sandra could not deny he was a good detective. "Any place she's talked about?"

"Her whole life is here, in London." Georgina's face was puzzled, and Sandra sat up a little straighter, hoping and praying the woman had recalled something useful. "Jocelyn did say something about a life insurance policy she set up, about three years ago. I never could figure out who the beneficiary is meant to be. I know it isn't me or Kath, but she hasn't mentioned anyone it might be. Although, I overheard her talking to someone on the phone, and _she_ is the beneficiary for _their_ policy."

Now that was something to go on. Money was always a prime motive for crime. The difference here was it was likely to have been mutual policies, each one ensuring the other was to be looked after once one of them died. It implied that, contrary to the findings of the original investigation, there was someone on this planet with whom Jocelyn Sharpe was close – very close indeed. Close enough to leave behind a great deal of money should anything happen to her. But who?

It was with these questions that they left Georgina's home; though they had a lead, it was a vague one, and it still may have had anything at all to do with Jocelyn's disappearance. On the other hand, though, it could have had everything to do with whatever went on.

"I don't get it," Gerry finally admitted, breaking the silence in the car. "She didn't have any reason to do a runner, by the look of it. Nobody would want to kidnap her, either."

"Maybe," Sandra slowly began, "it's something to do with the MS. Maybe it got worse and she needs full time care, and didn't tell anyone."

He turned to her, and she felt his eyes staring into the side of her head, which was distracting when she was trying to drive. Really, Gerry Standing was a constant distraction. His antics had, more than once, antagonised, infuriated and amused her simultaneously. She didn't know how he managed to be so frustrating without any effort. "Now, there's a thought. What if she went into a residential place and just vanished quietly?"

"Then she was pretty inconsiderate," she replied, her tone harsh and strict.

"Look at it from her side, Sandra," urged Gerry. He was being unusually gentle, especially given the mood he had been in all day, up until now. "Imagine you're dying, and you've got no family to help you, and you just want to live what time you've got in peace."

Sandra thought on it for a moment. Only one of those statements did not already apply to her. She already had no family – discounting her elderly and somewhat challenging mother – and she wanted to live in peace. "If I were dying, I think I would tell you, Gerry. I think I would want to have a few people there, and I wouldn't just run from them and leave them to wonder what the bloody hell happened to me." Aloud, it sounded like logic, to her, in that dire situation. It sounded like decency and kindness and loyalty and love. It truly was what Sandra would want and what she would do. But she felt Gerry staring at her again, and so turned to face him only briefly. "What?"

"Would you really tell me?" he asked of her.

"Of course." To her surprise, she didn't even hesitate with her answer. "Would you tell me if you were dying?"

Gerry did hesitate. Initially, he didn't even answer her question. And it was then that she understood a part of him that she had never been able to fully appreciate. They had talked, even joked, about their funeral arrangements, but when it came to the actual process of dying, Gerry would want to protect her from having to watch his ultimate downfall. Whether it was out of gallantry or cowardice, or a mixture of the two, she was unsure, but she believed his silence.

And then he spoke. "I don't think I could."

"I would _want_ to know." It was his choice, and she would never be able to control his decisions – she would never want to – but she wanted him to know she would have wanted to know if there was something seriously amiss. She was his friend. She would complain about Gerry until the cows came home, but the bottom line was that Gerry did mean a lot to her. "Just remember it, won't you?"

She glanced around and saw his slight smile; it was enough to make her accept uncertainties and focus on discovering the details of the case.

When they returned to Scotland Yard, to their squad room, they found Jack and Brian there already. They had been speaking to Katherine Black, and they relayed to Sandra a story similar to what she had encountered with Georgina Toley. Katherine knew Jocelyn but knew little about her life before moving to London. That usually meant one of two things: either their life had been very quiet and uneventful, or there was something worth hiding. When it was the latter issue, all hell tended to break loose.

This level of secrecy, from one person, was not normal, nor was it healthy. Yes, Sandra was a private person herself, but there were things she talked about with her boys or her mother. Jocelyn refused to confide even in her friends. It made her wonder what was worth blocking everyone out, when they obviously cared for the woman.

Brian seemed thoughtful; he still hadn't given up the idea that he knew Jocelyn's face. Although Jack had been quick to dismiss it, Sandra was more cautious; the more she pushed him, though, the longer it would take him to remember it. Her plan was to relaunch the public campaign to find this woman, in the hope that someone, somewhere, had an idea as to where to find her.

That could wait until the morning. For now, it was well past five o'clock, and the rest of her team had lives outside of work that they wanted to get on with. "OK, guys," she sighed. "We'll call it a night just now."

The men didn't need told twice – they were up and gone like they had springs up their backsides. It left her to pack her things up and head home, only because they had hit a wall with the investigation that she could not get past yet. The information she did have was racing around in her head, failing to make much sense. She had little choice but to head for her car.

It was when she was leaving the building that a man took to her pace, striding next to her. Sandra glanced at him; he had a balding head, was well into middle age, wore a suit and was fairly short, for a man. "Can I help you?" she politely asked him.

"You're looking for Jocelyn Sharpe," he answered her. He was American.

"How do you know?" Sandra demanded. "UCOS has only been investigating for about five hours, for Christ's sake!"

The man chuckled slightly. "A Robert Strickland called us yesterday, asking if we could assist you in any way, should you launch another search for Ms. Sharpe." Damn it. Strickland. She should have known. "Officially, the FBI can't help you. I can tell you that you could be about to kick one hell of a hornets' nest, though."

"Oh, thanks," she rolled her eyes. "Who the hell _are_ you, anyway?"

He stopped walking, and so did she. To Sandra, this man seemed to be nothing but trouble, and she didn't want to give him the upper hand should he prove to be untrustworthy. He dug into his jacket pocket for something, causing Sandra's senses to heighten in case he pulled something dangerous out. However, it was only a badge.

"Special Agent Tobias Fornell. FBI."

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 **Please feel free to drop a review and tell me what you think!  
Sarah x  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: See how much sense you can make of this; I think I'm going to end up confusing myself.**

 **Thanks to all who have read and reviewed!**

 **Sarah x**

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Sandra sat down opposite Tobias Fornell, trying to work out what the bloody hell was going on. At what point did the FBI become involved in her investigation? This was utter madness, and she was very close to getting on the defensive. She didn't want that lot anywhere near a case she was working on; she didn't need the complications they were sure to bring her.

"So," Sandra said, aware her tone was not all too polite. "What can you add to my investigation that is so important that you felt the need to cross an ocean rather than send an email?"

"Emails can be intruded upon," he pointed out; that was a fact Sandra could not deny. "There is a complex web surrounding Jocelyn Sharpe's British citizenship, and if certain details fell into the wrong hands, Ms. Sharpe would be put into a great deal of peril."

"Yeah, that's not saying much, since nobody has the first clue where she is, anyway." She was rapidly beginning to doubt that she had the patience to deal with this man. He was infuriating. He surely had not come all this way just to wind her up? And why had he gone around Strickland and come straight to her? Normally, things worked the other way around. Could he even be trusted?

He looked her in the eyes with an expression somewhere between annoyance and amusement, which only irritated her more. "Did you know that, prior to 2002, her name was not Jocelyn Sharpe?" he asked. Of course, Agent Fornell knew that she had not been aware of this information, otherwise he would not have asked her.

"No," was her curt answer.

"In 2002, Jocelyn was placed in the UK. In 2003, she was granted citizenship."

"By whom?"

"NCIS." Sandra replied by shooting a puzzled glare. "Naval Criminal Investigative Service. The order for Jocelyn to be placed in the UK, under an assumed name, came from the very top of the chain of command. The information is restricted. I had to call in a few favours to get it."

"Am I meant to be grateful?" she snapped. His manner was getting her back up; it was the arrogance that got her. "You've come in here and told me this, and I have little to no reason to believe you. Where's the evidence?"

Agent Fornell smiled slightly, and she knew instantly that this was going to be a mess. "I would say that you should ask the person who put the request in, but she's dead. I guess the next best would be the current Director, who holds the file. I've asked him to liaise with you in due course."

Sandra impatiently sighed, and demanded, "Well, who requested this in '02, then?"

"NCIS Special Agent Jennifer Shepard."

"Do we know why she made this request?"

"She was involved in anti-terrorism operations in the Middle East and North Africa, working with the Israeli Mossad, and NATO and local armed forces. After a Mossad agent was forced to come between her and a terrorist with a gun, she realised that anyone who bore a resemblance to a federal agent was in danger in the US, where the two could be connected quite easily." Sandra stared at Fornell blankly, wondering what he meant. She wasn't going to ask, though, because she believed it was what he wanted. She instead waited for his smirk to appear. "Have you seen Jennifer Shepard? Put her and Jocelyn side by side?"

"Jennifer is dead, and Jocelyn is missing, so no, the thought never crossed my mind, funnily enough." Sandra's patience was waning into nothing. Fornell gestured to her computer and she reluctantly moved for him to access the keyboard and mouse.

He typed into the search engine, 'NCIS Director Jennifer Shepard;' the first image result was of a redhead with green eyes and a pale but somewhat warm complexion. She was beautiful. Sandra glanced at the picture of Jocelyn and then at Jennifer's photo. Fornell was right. They were almost identical. Jocelyn was less proficient with her make up, though, while Jennfier's was done with precision and style. Jennifer's hair was more feminine than Jocelyn's, too, but apart from that, they could have been the same person.

There was a thought – what if Jennifer _was_ Jocelyn? "Do you think they could be the same person?" Sandra asked of the FBI agent.

"No," he said, his voice confident and certain. "I personally have worked with Jenny while Jocelyn was leading a normal life over here. They are definitely two very separate people."

"So," Sandra sighed. "In the UK, we have Jocelyn Sharpe, who has multiple sclerosis and was deliberately removed from the US, and placed in Britain. At the same time, in America, there's Jennifer Shepard, who could easily be Jocelyn's doppelgänger, and who, by the time Jocelyn goes missing, is the director of NCIS. When did Jennifer die?"

"May twentieth, last year."

"Six days after Jocelyn went missing. Coincidence?"

At that, Fornell started to laugh. Sandra raised her eyebrows at him, silently demanding an explanation. "Jenny didn't believe in coincidences. She learned to be an NCIS agent under the command of Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He taught her everything she knew about being a federal agent; one of his rules was that there is no such thing as a coincidence."

Sandra studied Fornell quietly, trying to determine if he was a friend or a foe in this situation. He seemed to know an excessive amount of information about Jennifer Shepard, and more than enough about Jocelyn to make her suspicious. "Were you and Jenny close?" she asked, using the name Fornell gave the deceased agent.

"Jenny and Jethro were close. Jethro is a good friend of mine, as is Dr. Mallard. Jenny was friendly with him, too."

"What about this Mossad agent who saved her life back in 2002?"

"Ziva David. Currently a liaison officer between NCIS and Mossad, stationed in Washington, DC. Jenny did her best to make life as easy as possible for Ziva when she joined NCIS."

Sandra's mind was racing around, trying to make sense of all these facts. She had not been expecting this case – a missing persons case – to be steeped in such a delicately balanced cocktail of politics and relationships. "Is there any chance I could speak to them?" she requested, finally finding the patience to deal with Fornell. "It would be incredibly helpful if they could help us find Jocelyn. She is, after all, very ill."

Fornell sighed, and Sandra knew then that this truly was going to be complicated. However, she also knew, and she knew that Fornell knew, that NCIS was holding the only potentially useful information available to them. Her head was pounding at the very thought of it; dealing with American agencies did not appeal to her in the slightest, and the attitudes Brian, Jack and Gerry would take didn't bear thinking about. It would shock Sandra if Gerry cooperated with them at all.

"I can talk to the Director of NCIS, see if he'll release the information. I can ask him if he'll send the Major Case Response Team; Jenny worked closely with them in Washington." Sandra nodded – maybe she had been hasty to judge Fornell. It sounded like this case was not easy for him to work out, either, and it sounded like he was here because he wanted to help. However, is readiness and swiftness in volunteering himself to assist her. "Go home," he advised her. "Get some sleep." And there it was again. That was what irritated her. The condescension.

She glanced at the clock; despite his patronisation, he had a point. It was late, and the ball was in Fornell's court for now – there was little else she could really do until he contacted the Americans. What she had learned was going to take a bit of processing, and there were a great many riddles in the answers she had been given.

As she put on her coat once more and shouldered her bag, she asked of Fornell, "Do you think Jenny and Jocelyn could have been related?"

"The only thing known about Jenny's family is that her father died in 1995. Whether it was suicide, like she was always told, or murder, was made unclear a couple of years ago. Apart from him, I have no idea about Jenny Shepard's family," he admitted. "She always came across as quite isolated, though."

Sandra reasoned aloud, more to herself than to him, "If Jocelyn was Jenny's family, it would explain why they look so alike, and why Jenny felt the need to relocate Jocelyn to protect her." It made some sense – more sense than most other theories thrown around in the investigation of this case – her, and she could tell from the look on Fornell's face that he saw the logic in it as well.

It was with the shake of a hand that she parted from Fornell for the night, at the front doors of Scotland Yard.

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 **Please feel free to review and tell me your thoughts!  
Sarah x**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: So tired. Maybe I made a mess of this; if I did, I apologise in advance!**

 **Thanks to everyone reading and reviewing!  
**

 **Sarah x**

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"Gibbs!" Ziva David shouted from the balcony. She was currently stood outside the Multiple Threat Alert Center, dreading taking Gibbs in there. She had been called in about half an hour ago, quizzed by Director Leon Vance about the mission she was a part of in Cairo a number of years ago, and its aftermath.

When Leroy Jethro Gibbs looked up at her, it was with his infamous icy blue glare, but still she beckoned him up. She had been barely twenty years old back then, and she had underestimated the efficiency and secretive natures of people she had met. This was despite being the daughter of Eli David – perhaps she should have seen it, but she hadn't.

Gibbs appeared before her, and demanded, "What?"

"The Director would like us in MTAC. He is on a line with Fornell," she informed him. She watched surprise fleet quickly through his features before he stepped around her and scanned himself into the darkened room, Ziva hot on his heels. It was not long before they were stood next to Vance, staring at Tobias Fornell's enlarged face upon the gigantic screen.

It was Vance who spoke first, though. "Officer David," he addressed her. "December seventh, 2002. What happened that day?"

Confused and frustrated by having to repeat her account of that day, Ziva found herself frowning at the Director, but replied anyway. "I was part of an anti-terrorism operation. We had intelligence concerning an attack in central Cairo," she explained. She glanced at Gibbs, knowing that this second recalling was for his benefit. She could have sworn she saw a flash of anguish mixed with a strange fondness on his face, and wondered if he had already been told some of this story. "I was working with Jenny Shepard. She was an exemplary agent, but terrorists are more intelligent than we often credit them with. They came out of nowhere. We did not expect them so soon, or in the location we found them. There were three men. One took Jenny. One took me. The other was in charge."

She looked between the men, feeling compelled to continue. "In hindsight, we should have dyed Jenny's hair. It made her stick out like a sore toe."

"Thumb," Fornell corrected her with a small smile.

"Thank you," she answered him, resisting the overwhelming urge to glare at him. "Redheads are easily spotted in Egypt. I think it may be how they figured us out so fast. Anyway. They started on me first, probably thinking that if they tortured me enough, Jenny would be soft enough to cave in. She did not. She held off. So they held a knife to her throat and a gun to her back. I broke free of my captor and I disabled both him and their commander. When I turned, Jenny was bleeding. I shot her captor dead and hauled her out of there. At first I thought she had been shot, but there had been no sound. She had a knife in her thigh. I carried her a mile and a half to the nearest hospital."

Gibbs looked torn between confusion and pride, knowing that Jenny and Ziva had managed to escape with their lives. She knew why he was confused, though. Even Ziva did not yet know why she was being asked about this. "Did Jenny ever mention a woman named Jocelyn to either of you?" Fornell asked.

Ziva had never heard Jenny mention the name before, and she had a feeling Gibbs had never heard it, either. So they both shook their heads, only to be handed a file marked 'classified.' They glanced at one another; it was never a good sign when classified files started to be shared. But they looked. Ziva had to contain her shock when she stared down at the paper, a photograph of a woman identical to Jenny Shepard staring back at her. The file logged the whereabouts of a Jocelyn Sharpe from 17th December, 2002, until spring last year. A note recorded that, on April seventeenth, 2003, Jocelyn was granted British citizenship. There were no records at all after April thirtieth of last year. None at all. After quarterly loggings, it looked strange, suspicious, even, for all records to cease like that.

"She was placed in the UK by NCIS ten days after that attack," Vance explained.

"On whose authority?" Gibbs asked.

"Director Morrow authorised it, but the placement was requested by Special Agent Jennifer Shepard," Vance replied.

Ziva was stunned. How could Jenny have managed that from an Egyptian hospital? Ziva had barely left her side, and Jenny had managed to have someone she obviously cared about placed in the United Kingdom. "Jocelyn Sharpe has since gone missing," said Fornell. "She was last seen in London on May fourteenth last year, in London. I'm here in London, trying to assisted UCOS in their investigation; we're all keen to track Jocelyn down. She has multiple sclerosis."

Alarm bells rang within Ziva. Had Ducky not said that Jenny was ill before she got herself shot dead in that diner eight months ago?

This obviously had Jenny's name written all over it. The secrecy, the use of the system, the stubborn determination to get what she felt she needed...it was practically watermarked with Jenny's name. "What is UCOS?" asked Ziva, curious as to what exactly was searching with Jocelyn in England. It was just so bizarre.

"Unsolved Crime and Open Case Squad. Run by the Metropolitan Police in London. Their leader in Detective Superintendent Sandra Pullman. The rest are retired ex-officers," Fornell elaborated. To Ziva, it sounded a stroke of genius and a recipe for chaos at the same time – after all, who knew old cases better and had worse working practice than retired police officers?

Vance turned to face Gibbs and Ziva with an intense stare; it was then that she knew what was coming. "Pack a bag. Tell DiNozzo and McGee to pack theirs, too. I'm sending you to London to assist with the investigation and the search for this woman. If Jenny Shepard has played her part, and I think she has, they'll need someone who knows how her mind worked."

Gibbs let out a surprising and derisive snigger, much to Ziva's surprise. He had been his normal stoic self until now. "I don't think anyone knew Jenny as well as they thought they did," was his comment. He sounded almost bitter about it, like he was annoyed the Jenny had been smart enough to do this. Ziva noticed that, every time Gibbs saw a slightly haywire side to his deceased ex-lover, he got more wound up, more frustrated and far angrier. The same had happened when Jenny was alive, only the crazy, mad woman was there to take the brunt of it herself.

Neither Ziva or Gibbs said anything. All they gave was a nod of acknowledgement of their ordered before they left in a stunned silence. It was Ziva who eventually broke that silence as they stood on the balcony, watched Tony DiNozzo and Timothy McGee for a few moments before they dragged up Jenny's past for them. "I wish I knew why she had done it," admitted Ziva. "I wish she had told me she had taken steps to protect someone. I could have helped."

"Jenny never did ask for help from her friends," Gibbs reasoned, but, again, he did not sound pleased about that. But who would be pleased to discover that the woman he had once loved had told him nothing of an almost identical woman's existence. If Ziva did not know Jenny's family history, and if her father's death had not sent his in a downward spiral fifteen years after the fact, Ziva's first reaction would have been that they were related. But they weren't. Though, it was Jenny herself who believed one should never take at face value the things they read on paper. Most of it was bent of broken truths, anyway.

Ziva watched Tony as he worked, wishing he did not have to be involved in this investigation. He struggled with Jenny's death as it was, blaming himself for taking her orders, for allowing his past experiences with her judgement cloud his own, for not being there at the moment he could have saved her. He did not fully grasp that Jenny went out to that desert _looking_ for death. It was as close to suicide as one could get without holding a gun to their head. Ziva knew that. Ducky definitely knew that. So why could Tony not accept that?

She then looked at McGee. He had Jenny were never close. Jenny chose to push him into being the best he could be, becoming inaccessible to him in the process. Ziva did not want to be the one to explain anything more. She was leaving that to Gibbs.

But Tony was the person who worried her right now. She feared that if he heard Jenny's name brought up in this case before they reached London, he would refuse to help. Even in death, Tony seemed to struggle with trust issues with Jenny, after the whole Jeanne-Benoit-La-Grenouille saga – and who could really blame him?

* * *

 **Please feel free to drop me a review and tell me your thoughts!  
Sarah x**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'm visiting my family after living in Portree for a couple of months...man, now I remember why I moved to that island.**

 **I'm not sure about this chapter, but I do hope it's alright!**

 **Sarah x**

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Gibbs had ordered Ziva and their most junior field agent, Timothy McGee, to say nothing to Tony DiNozzo about the details of their trip to the UK. Tony was told only that they had a case their waiting for them, and that the Metropolitan Police's cold case squad needed their help. Gibbs hated to lie to Tony – even if only by omission – but he feared that DiNozzo would not have got on the plane had he known their trip had anything at all to do with the late Jenny Shepard, for he knew only too well the damage Jenny and her secrets were able to cause.

It shouldn't have surprised Jethro, really, that even in death Jenny was intent on keeping her secrets. Hell, she had told him nothing about knowing anyone from the UK, discounting Donald 'Ducky' Mallard and Trent Kort, a CIA operative she had run ins with in her pursuit of an arms dealer. Besides, Ducky was not from England, which was where they were headed. He was from Scotland. The stereotypical yet worryingly common American misconception that Scotland and England were one and the same was a source of irritation for the gentle and ageing medical examiner.

It made him wonder, when exactly did Jenny start keeping secrets? Or had she just never really told the truth? He recalled when she had called him out for failing to tell her about his deceased daughter and first wife, but she was no better herself.

And now it was bringing more trouble. More turmoil. More uncertainty. It was fairly seldom that Gibbs ever felt any sympathy for DiNozzo, but just now, he did. He had to explain to Tony what they were doing an a flight to London, now that they were on board a flying plane and there was no turning back.

"Tony," he broke the tense silence between them all. "The case we're going to London for, it's not simple."

"I didn't expect it to be, boss," Tony answered him. "We wouldn't be on a flight to London if it were a simple case."

"You misunderstand," Ziva interjected. "It involves Jenny."

"Jenny's dead," Tony bluntly stated, like they didn't already know that.

"She's the reason we're having to go to London," Gibbs explained, torn between irritation at Ziva's tactless approach and relief that she had saved him from the task of saying it himself. Today was the first time he had spoken about Jenny – said her name – since she died eight months ago. Rather than explain it all again, he handed Tony the file Vance gave them.

Tony almost looked frightened when he took the papers, and Gibbs could at least begin to understand why. It was another secret from Jenny Shepard, this time from her grave, and Jenny's secret-keeping never ended well for anyone.

Gibbs studied Tony's face, seeing the disbelief and mistrust in his eyes. "They could be sisters," he quietly observed, turning the page over. "Twins, even. Are we sure we've ever known Jenny? Or that they're actually different people?"

"Fornell and Detective Superintendent Pullman are certain of it," said McGee, speaking for the first time in the course of the conversation. "Jocelyn was definitely in London while Director Shepard was running NCIS. There's no way they're the same person."

"This is gonna be messy," murmured Tony.

"I know," Gibbs was forced to concur.

He had known Jenny since she was a fresh-faced probationary field agent; by the time they had parted for the final time, she had turned into an ill, lonely, struggling but talented, smart and cautiously loving woman. When did she change? Where did they go wrong? Had he ever really known her, or had he only known the parts of her she had showed him of her? Maybe one day, it would all become clear.

He wasn't sure why, but seeing the picture of a woman who looked so much like Jenny – even though he _knew_ it wasn't really her – stirred enough emotion in him to put a lump in his throat. He missed her. Despite her flaws, despite her lies and her misguided way of living, he missed her. He could not deny, now that he was never going to see her again, that he had been deeply in love with her. She had been a complex woman. A profoundly troubled woman. But he had been in love with her all the same. It was the type of love that made him feel that, when she reappeared as Director of NCIS in 2005, seeing her face was like coming home. She had been home for him. One of his homes, anyway, but a home nonetheless.

But he knew Tony never quite trusted Jenny after the ordeal he went through with Jeanne. He didn't blame DiNozzo for that; it was only natural. So he would not hold it against Tony if he did not want to help, but he believed that the agent and detective in him would be able to put his past with Jenny aside in order to find this woman. Jocelyn, after all, had never wronged any of them. Where she was concerned, they were only searching for a missing person. They were only doing their jobs.

* * *

It was only when they were greeted by Tobias Fornell and a tall, blonde woman, that this whole thing really did seem real to Ziva. Never had she believed that their misadventures in Cairo would ever come back to haunt them. Though, if Jenny had taken it upon herself to tell Ziva about this woman she had sent to England, maybe they would not have been in this position.

"Hi," the blonde woman smiled, holding her hand out to Gibbs. Ziva watched him shake it as she recalled the last time she had been in this city; it had been in 2004, with her late half-brother, Ari. It was strange to think that Jenny had been keeping secrets from her back then. "I'm Detective Superintendent Sandra Pullman."

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs," he replied. "This is Timothy McGee," he gestured to Tim, "Anthony DiNozzo," he nodded at Tony, "and Ziva David," he motioned to Ziva, who felt obliged to raise her hand in a greeting. "My team."

Sandra seemed strong and intelligent, and very much accustomed to dealing with men. However, Ziva sensed a vulnerability in her, and she guessed that Sandra had worked out a long time ago how to use her weaknesses to her own advantage. She was also very beautiful, in a pale, down-to-earth kind of way. Her eyes were a piercing, electric shade of blue, and she seemed to share Ziva's own lack of care for make-up. It reminded her that, in that sense, Ziva could not have been more different from Jenny. There had been times she had been forced to scold her friend for her fixation on looking perfect; nobody was perfect, and she was endlessly telling Jenny that when they were younger.

It seemed that Vance had already hired them a car, though Ziva was not expressly told by Tony that she was not permitted to drive in London with him in the car. Ziva had driven here plenty of times, so she didn't see the issue, but she did not wish to antagonise Tony while he was pondering this case; it was very close to home, and he might just overreact.

Ziva elected instead to ride with Sandra, feeling that the car with her own colleagues would have been too crowded, not to mention the fact she had just endured a trans-Atlantic flight in their company. So she swapped with Fornell, letting the men ride together. She wanted the chance to survey Sandra, too, and figure the woman out.

"We found out about three hours ago," Sandra began, "that Jocelyn was admitted to Accident and Emergency on Halloween night. Two teenagers knocked on her door and she fell over and fractured her arm. One of the girls called 999 and waited with her. We went to that address but she doesn't live there anymore. Not that we really expected her to," she admitted.

That sounded all too familiar to Ziva. Find a safe house, be discovered, move on. It was a process she had repeated over and over again, with Jenny, with Ari, with Eschel...it was one of the only things she really hated about her profession.

"I knew the woman who had Jocelyn placed here," Ziva quietly said. "I did not realise until today that the incident that triggered her to do so was one I was involved in."

"Did you know Jenny well?" Sandra asked, keeping her eyes on the road as a motorcyclist chose a rather idiotic moment to overtake them.

"I thought so," replied Ziva, confronting her recent doubts about just how well she had known Jenny, and how much Jenny had hidden from her. She had liked to think she had known the woman better than most, but that was being called into question. Sandra asked nothing more of her on that subject, and it wasn't long before the pulled up into the parking lot of New Scotland Yard. Ziva had become so used to Ducky mentioning this place that she almost recognised it instantly, despite never setting foot in the place.

When the men got parked into a visitors' space, Sandra led them all to her squad room, and there, they were introduced to three ageing men: Jack Halford, Brian Lane and Gerry Standing.

* * *

 **Please feel free to drop me a review and tell me what you think!  
Sarah x**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Bit of a strange chapter; I hope it makes some sense. Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far!**

 **Sarah**

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Sandra sat down in a chair in her squad room, waiting for one of her boys to stick their foot in their mouth. It was to her amazement they said nothing out of line. "Jocelyn was last seen in the Emergency Department of St. Thomas' Hospital. After that, nothing," Brian sighed. "And then there's the connection to Jennifer Shepard. Were they cousins, sisters?"

"Jenny has never mentioned anyone but her father," stated Ziva. Her words were bluntly factual, almost like she was consciously trying not to acknowledge her emotions. "He committed suicide. Or not. It was cast into doubt."

"There's a thought!" exclaimed McGee. He sounded almost excited by the case, but Sandra had the impression that he was merely trying to keep spirits up. Tony, who seemed like a younger version of Gerry Standing, seemed far from pleased to be here. In fact, he appeared to be downright bloody miserable, and not to mention angry. "We could look at Jasper Shepard's military records and see who is dependents were at the time Jenny would have been under eighteen."

This was why she asked for them to come over here. She wouldn't have known that Jenny's father was in the military. "I'll get on that," Tony volunteered. "We've got a scientist back home who can get it in a couple of minutes. Can I use your phone?"

Sandra nodded at him, and away he went to her office to call their scientist. She looked around her, seeing the differences between Gibbs' team and her own. His team was very young – she dreaded to think at what age Ziva David began her career – and quite calm. Her team was a collection of older men, who were all slightly bizarre in their own ways. Gibbs himself, though, was more like Sandra than she had expected him to be. He was quiet, and he was thoughtful, and she couldn't help but feel he was deeply connected with Jenny Shepard.

This case was driving her crazy already, only because they had less than nothing to go on. What they did know about Jocelyn was so entangled in foreign politics that she half-believed they might have been better off well away from this case.

Brian, however, was enthused by the case, as it used every part of his expansive mind. Jack was understandably cautious of it all, even more so since four Americans and an Israeli walked into the office. He was busying himself with checking through phone books and social network pages on the off chance he would find something, but Sandra doubted he was going to find very much.

"Jenny was protecting Jocelyn," began Fornell, while Gibbs eyes him with some degree of angry. "Do we know if Jenny ever visited her? She was in Paris a couple of years ago, when she left you in charge," he nodded his head towards Gibbs. "It wouldn't be hard to come to London for a day or two."

"No, she went to Russia that time," McGee replied, and Sandra was slightly lost now, but it seemed Ziva and Fornell were a little confused too. "Trent Kort," he added, and that seemed to clear things up for the other two, if not for Sandra herself.

She was about to demand an explanation when Tony returned. "Colonel Shepard," he said as he sat back down, "listed three dependents in his time with the Navy. Jocelyn Shepard, his wife, and Jennifer and Joyce Shepard, his daughters. Jocelyn committed suicide when the girls were sixteen. She was severely incapacitated by multiple sclerosis."

"Jocelyn's definitely not old enough to be Jenny's mother," stated Jack. "It sounds like Jocelyn's alias might have been their mother's name, since she was long dead by then."

"Their names all start with a 'J'," Brian observed. Unimportant, really, but Sandra enjoyed knowing that Brian was such an observant person.

"Explains why Jen refused to believe her dad killed himself," added Gibbs. Sandra squirmed slightly in her seat, recalling how much she had hurt when she heard that her father had really committed suicide. In that respect, she understood Jenny quite well. Who wants to believe that of their parent?

Sandra sighed. "So Joyce – Jocelyn – and Jenny are twins. Clears that up, then."

"What if, when Jenny died and the danger she was in was considerably less, she went back to her old name?" suggested Brian.

"But when she hurt her arm, she was admitted under then name of Jocelyn Sharpe," countered Ziva. "I would guess she is still using that name."

Sandra agreed with Ziva on that one; if anything, it might even draw more attention to her if she changed her name again. Jocelyn seemed to want to stay as hidden as possible. She currently had Gerry trying to find out if she was being cared for in a residential place, after their heated conversation yesterday.

It was Fornell who eventually broke the contemplative silence. "Jenny was accused of murder but she was cleared, spring last year," he explained. "After that, she took three weeks of leave. Anyone know where she went?"

"No," answered Gibbs. "But she wasn't at home. I tried contacting her when I realised how ill she was."

Sandra sighed again. That was a problem; she'd read up on Jenny's death, and saw that she died in a house fire at her home, so all of her possessions, bar the ones kept in her office, would have been destroyed. "I'm guessing her passport was destroyed in the fire," she said to them. However, she was taken aback by the looks that Gibbs, Tony, Ziva and McGee exchanged when she approached the subject of just how Jenny died. "What?"

Tony eyed Fornell for a split second, and replied, "Nothing," in a way that told her he might tell her the truth later on. Was there something that Fornell was not aware of, that the NCIS team was keeping from him? Was there even more to this than met her eye?

* * *

Gibbs wandered out the building later that day, at around eight o'clock, when they all finally called it a night. The team here might have been ageing (though not _that_ much more than he) and slightly nuts, but they worked well. It was a great concept to have a team like this, since the now-civilian members would have been worked in the environment the original cases would have been dealt with.

Gerry appeared to Gibbs to be a picture of what DiNozzo might become in thirty to forty years' time. Jack was knowledgeable and realistic, knowing the ways of the world without any filters to his vision. Brian was the strangest, though. He could recall almost anything to his mind, and was a little obsessive over things, but maybe that was what made him good at his job.

And then there was Sandra, who Gibbs found interesting. In a way, she reminded him of Jenny. And of Ziva. There was that determination and indifference to the intimidating ways of men within her. She was in charge and she knew it. He liked that about her. Those three men didn't even try to bully her, and that surprised him a little. She was obviously strong enough to withstand them and intelligent enough to outsmart them. Oh, yes, Sandra Pullman was not a woman Gibbs would like to cross.

"So," said a voice behind him, startling him. He turned to find Sandra walking through the parking lot, just behind him and catching up quickly. "What was that look about, when I mentioned the house fire?"

Gibbs tried to work out if she really needed to know the truth behind Jenny's death. Did it make that much difference? Could Sandra even be trusted with the knowledge? And as for her three stooges...that could go wrong. So he just didn't answer. It was the best way. It was his rule number four, after all; he was actually beginning to regret teaching Jenny that rule. She took it a bit too far over the years.

But there was something in Sandra that pierced through him. Her investigation was bringing back all his memories of Jenny, the good and the bad, and the way she approached the subject was drawing out so many things he would rather forget. He didn't want to show it, but he was angry with Jenny. He was beginning to think that he had never really known Jenny, but how could he have fallen in love with someone he had never truly known?

He was about to turn away from her, but she caught his arm before he could do so properly. "Come for a drink," Sandra smiled. Her blonde locks blew in the winter wind, the cold stinging their faces until they felt raw, and he noticed that her eyes were just as bright a shade of blue as his. Gibbs raised his eyebrows slightly in demand of an explanation. "I like to know who I'm working with."

"I don't drink in bars," he declined. It wasn't completely untrue – he really _did_ just drink alone in his basement, unless there was a reason for him to be dragged into a social situation.

"We can go to my place," she suggested. Gibbs considered it for a moment; he had nothing much better to do. Tony, Ziva and McGee tended to stick together, anyway, and they did not expect him to hang around them for the entire trip. Tony could probably do with some space, since he was definitely not happy about investigating the disappearance of Jenny's twin sister.

So he stepped aside, gesturing for Sandra to lead the way. "After you, Detective Superintendent," he said.

"Sandra," she smiled at him, leading him to her car.

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 **Please do leave a review and tell me your thoughts!  
Sarah x**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey, guys! This is sort of a turning point, as you'll see when you read on. I don't know how obvious the answer is, or not - it's obvious to me, but probably because I'm the one writing it.**

 **Thanks, as always, to everyone who has read and reviewed so far!**

 **Sarah x**

* * *

Sandra entered the house and took Gibbs' coat. In truth, she didn't ask every temporary co-worker to her home for a drink, but she felt Gibbs held information that she needed. Maybe he didn't know the importance of whatever he withheld; maybe she wouldn't even know what it meant in relation to her investigation and how to proceed with it. But she wanted to know all the same.

She wanted to solve this case, not only to find Jocelyn, but also to give this group of people, who were befuddled by this outpouring of secrets that had been kept from them, some answers. Of course, Jocelyn needed to be found, for her own welfare, but it was bigger than that now. Maybe Jocelyn knew why her sister seemed to have done nothing but lie to those who clearly had loved her.

"What do you drink?" she called from the kitchen.

"You don't have any bourbon, do ya?" he shouted back.

Sandra smiled slightly and reached into the cupboard; she walked through to the living room with a bottle in one hand and glasses in the other. "As it so happens, I do." She poured him a glass and gave it to him, watching him silently as he sipped it. He was obviously guarded, and problem had his reasons. "So, Special Agent Gibbs," she began.

"Jethro," he corrected. It was fair enough, she reasoned, since she had done the same to him earlier. She could tell he was as capable an investigator as she was, and that he was what held his team together at times. She was forced to do the same with UCOS, after all – when Jack decided to try and run over Ricky Hanson, for instance.

"Jethro. Why the secrecy?"

"Secrecy?"

"Every time I mention the fire which killed Jenny Shepard," she began, pointing at him slightly with the hand in which she held her glass, "you and that team of yours go all quiet. There's something you're not telling me."

She observed Gibbs' body language; he seemed well-practised at hiding things, and she doubted that anyone who didn't know him well would ever be able to tell if he was lying. That, of course, meant Sandra had very little in the way of hope, when it came to sussing him out. But when did that ever stop her trying? "She _is_ dead, isn't she?"

"Yeah," Jethro finally said. "Yeah, she's dead."

His tone, and the sadness in his face, made her instantly feel bad for asking; and yet, there was an anger in his face that went deeper than Sandra could begin to understand without an explanation. "I'm sorry," she sighed, knowing it was best to give him some empathy. She had a feeling that he had been far too strong for pretty much all his life. He had that aura of fragile strength about him. "Were you close?"

Gibbs chuckled slightly, much to Sandra's surprise. "Once upon a time."

"What changed?"

"Her. Me."

"And you never met Jocelyn?" Sandra felt compelled to ask. "Or Joyce. Her sister."

"I never knew she had a sister. I didn't even know about her dad's death until a couple of years ago." There was a soft yet sharp bitterness in his voice. "There was a time she would have come to me with anything. But then she left my team in 1999 and climbed the career ladder. Travelled on anti-terrorism ops, then merged teams with Mossad, with Ziva, after 9/11, I found out later. Next time I saw her, a member of my team had just been murdered and she was the new Director of NCIS."

"How old _is_ Ziva?"

"Twenty-six."

"Bloody hell," breathed Sandra. She could not imagine the young woman as an even younger Mossad agent. It was scary, how young she must have been when she started working on these kinds of missions. It made her wonder what kind of upbringing Ziva had, and how her life had turned to drive her to join Mossad when she was still so young. "No wonder she's so hard."

Gibbs smiled slightly. "She has another side. You should have seen her when Jenny died. And Tony." She felt Gibbs starting at her, and she knew he was scrutinising her to gauge her trustworthiness. It was after a long pause that he added, "They found her body."

Now Sandra was confused. How could Tony and Ziva have found Jenny's body when the woman had died in a fire. But Gibbs didn't seem the type to slip up, so she could only assume he was deliberately telling her this, for a good reason. "I don't follow."  
Gibbs huffed slightly and took a drink; he drank like he was accustomed to the burn on the throat. Like he drank a little too much. "Jenny didn't die in a fire. She died in a diner in the Mojave desert. Took on four assassins and went down with them."

"Oh, my God," she gasped. "So Tony and Ziva found her dead?"

"Yeah. Tony actually took it worse than Ziva did. He went for a long time thinking it was his fault, but it wasn't. Jenny was used to going her own way, and he couldn't have stopped her."

This changed things. It meant that they had more information than they had two minutes ago, anyway. "Did you ever see Jenny's body?" she gently asked of Gibbs.

He shook his head, looking quite ashamed. "I couldn't open the body bag. I didn't want to remember her like that."

She saw a little water building in his blue eyes, proving that he was not unbreakable. Strong, definitely, but there was nobody on this planet who was infallible. Not even Leroy Jethro Gibbs. "You loved her, didn't you?" He didn't answer her, but he didn't have to. She knew that look. She had seen it so many times doing this job, and she was sure he had, too. "I know how it feels, you know. To have it told to you that someone you love has always kept secrets from you. But I've found that they always have their reasons, and if they loved you, part of their deception was in order to protect you."

Gibbs looked straight at her and smiled just a little; Sandra returned it, feeling like she understood the man just a little bit better.

It was at that very moment that her mobile phone rang. It was Gerry Standing, and, at this time of the night, a call from him meant one of three things – either he was drunk, he was in trouble or he had found a lead in the case. "Hello," she answered.

"Guv'," he said. "Do remember the David Barrie case?"

Sandra smirked slightly. "Respected barrister with a penchant for rough sex, transgender reformed murderer, sadomasochistic prostitute, lying widow, Strickland's first case with us," she listed, her memories of the case bizarrely fond. Gibbs looked taken aback as she described the nature of that particular case, to her mild amusement. "How could I forget? Why?"

She heard Gerry's deep laughter and glanced up at Gibbs. "Remember how we found Michaela?"

"Yeah, DVLA database."

"Just done the same with Jocelyn's name. She still has an up-to-date driving license." Sandra sat up straight and listened properly to Gerry. As much as she tried not to, sometimes she zoned out a little when Gerry spoke. "She lives in Lambeth, according to the DVLA. Makes sense, dunnit? Close enough to a tube station for when she ain't fit for driving."

Sandra could not hold in the beam forcing its way to the surface of her face. "Excellent, Gerry! I could kiss you!" she joked, seeing Gibbs raise his eyebrows.

"That a promise?" Gerry retorted, and she could hear the cheeky grin her must have been wearing.

"Piss off," she warmly snapped. "Listen, it's too late at night to be knocking down doors in Lambeth, especially when we don't know how well or unwell Jocelyn may be. We'll go in the morning, OK?" She failed to tell him she'd been drinking, only to dodge his jibes.

"Yeah, alright," he answered; it was clear from his tone of voice that he was very pleased with himself. She looked at Gibbs again and realised she was going to have to tell him that Gerry had found his dead friend's twin sister. "Have a good night, Sandra."

"You, too. Goodnight, Gerry."  
"'Night."

They hung up, and Sandra had to take a deep breath. She was _very_ happy that Gerry had a lead to finding Jocelyn, but she feared the NCIS team had a wasted journey. On the other hand, though, she had this gut feeling that it was no coincidence that Jocelyn went missing so close to the day that her sister was killed. Murdered. So this was perhaps still NCIS waters she sailed in at the moment.

"Jethro," she said, keeping her voice gentle. She almost felt like she was breaking news to a relative and not a colleague. "Gerry thinks he might have found Jocelyn's address. She still has her updated driver's license, and her address was on the DVLA database. Gerry pulled the same stroke with a case a few years back." Gibbs stood up, triggering Sandra to do the same. He headed for the door; Sandra jumped forwards to catch him by the arm. "UCOS is not in the habit of barging in to the homes of possibly sick people in the night, Jethro!" she scolded him. "Sit back down." He turned and glared at her, and she stood there wondering what effect that was supposed to have on her. It had no effect on her, so she pointed to the living room and ordered him, "Get in there and sit _down_!"

* * *

 **Please feel free to leave me a review and tell me your thoughts!  
Sarah x**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: This chapter is a little bit different, as I'm sure you'll notice. It's a sort of turning point, I guess.**

 **Thanks to every who is reading and reviewing!**

 **Sarah x**

* * *

She lay in bed, retreating under the duvet as she heard the doorbell ring for the second time. Whoever the blonde woman on the monitor was – there was a camera disguised as the spyhole on the front door – she wasn't in the mood this morning. With this illness came good days and bad days; she grew up knowing that by observing her mother, and later on, her sister too. Today was not a good day. Definitely not good enough to willingly deal with the world outside her door. She was fatigued and badly co-ordinated, and far from enthused by the idea of seeing people.

Eventually, she heard the blonde call out, "We're from the Metropolitan Police, Ms. Sharpe! Unsolved Crime and Open Case Squad! We just want to talk to you."

Just want to talk...ha. Like she would believe it. She didn't fall in the last rain shower. She had heard about UCOS; it was a unit whose brief was to reopen cold cases and try to solve them, using technology detectives thirty years ago would never had even dreamt of having. She glanced at the clock to find it was going on midday. If she felt halfway decent, she would have been up and about by now. She just lay there in the dark, lights off and curtains shut, pretending she wasn't home. If they had a warrant, they would have been in the house by now.

A second voice, a male one, added, "Jocelyn?! We're just here to make sure you're alright!"

She sat bolt upright, immediately regretting it when what she could see of the room started spinning. She had not expected to hear an American voice calling on her. Though she was American herself, the idea that there was another person from her country at her door was frightening. For just a moment, she reckoned she knew that voice, but figured she was just being paranoid. She was holding her breath, trying to hear the conversations outside. How many people were out there? She was only able to see the blonde from the Met, but there was obviously at least one other person who was out of the range of the camera.

Silently, she turned the fan off and listened closely. "...she's probably at work, or at the store, or the doctor," said the American.

To her surprise, it was a second American – another man – who answered him. At this distance, she couldn't really discern if she had ever heard their voices before; and besides, her memory wasn't exactly all it used to be. "Her car's still here." It was a voice she vaguely knew, but she couldn't match a face to it.  
"She could've taken the tube. Lambeth North Station's just down the road," a third man pointed out. He had a thick Cockney accent, a total native to London if ever there was one. The sound of his voice made the female officer, who obviously was a Londoner with that very slight accent, sound positively royal. He sounded older than the two Americans, and he had a voice that suggested he had smoked for a large portion of his life.

Her heart was hammering in her chest, for reasons she could not fully understand. Her instinct told her something was wrong; funnily enough, it wasn't the police's presence at her door that made her feel anxious. It was the Americans' presence that triggered it. Staying silent seemed like a great effort while they were around, while she was avoiding detection, though the rational part of her reasoned that she had been lying here in silence for the bulk of the morning, anyway. With that in mind, she buried herself in her bed, hunkering herself into the covers and pulling the fleecy throw over her head. It was all she could do to wait for them to go away, because she knew they could not just break in without a warrant.

It was a good five or ten minutes before she heard their car pull away again. It was only when she was certain they had gone that she slowly began to get out of bed. She was under no illusions when it came the strength she had in her today. There wasn't much there, and she had to use it efficiently. It was with this idea in mind that she packed a few things – clothes, toothbrush, medications, the essentials – and picked up her walking stick. Sometimes she needed it, and sometimes she was fine without it, but she intended to walk fairly far today.

She got dressed very carefully, cautious not to stumble or harm herself at all. Her lengthening red hair was brushed and tied back into a careless and loose bun on the back of her head. She didn't even try doing make up; her hands were not steady enough.

She didn't head for the car when she walked away from her home. It was too obvious, and she didn't want hurt anyone else in the accident she was sure to cause if she got behind the wheel. Anxiety had taken over her body. Not only were her hands trembling, but her mind was trembling too. If there were Americans at her door, it meant someone had drafted them in to find her. She had seen the news reports and the missing persons posters. That was why she kept herself to herself now. At the moment, she was scared to work, in case someone found her out. Instead, she was living in the distant background of London's busy heart, with money provided to her by the government to help her live with her disability. And there was the NHS, without which she seriously would have a problem.

She decided to had to get away, and that she had to stay away for a few weeks until even the cold case squad gave up on her. She resolved to head to Scotland, where the police force was separate from England's. Hell, she could even pitch a tent wherever she wanted, if she felt up to it. She had done it the last time she had run; of course, she was a lot fitter eight months ago, and not to mention the difference in weather between May and January. She had been at the very tail end of an episode, not in the middle of one. She had been tired but capable. More capable than she was at the moment, anyway.

There were trains to Edinburgh, Glasgow, Aberdeen, Dundee, Perth and Inverness she could take from King's Cross; so it was to Lambeth North Underground Station she headed. She had enough money. Maybe she could head into the Highlands and rent a holiday home. Tourism was sure to be quiet, apart from hikers and snowsport fanatics. If she headed to Edinburgh, maybe then to Perth or even Inverness, she could work it out from there, make phone calls on the way up. It was a long journey, after all.

As she slowly ambled along, she began to realise she was in no fit state for this. How could she do this when she couldn't even get out of bed until she forced herself? The street around her sounded horrifically loud, and yet there were not a huge number of people or cars around. It was the dead of winter, after all, in a somewhat not-so-central area.

It hit her.

Her body was giving up; it couldn't deliver what she demanded of it. She knew she should never have expected her body to defy multiple sclerosis and its effects. Her mother and sister tried that, and look where it got them.

She stopped. She had to stop. Her legs would not take her any further, a cold ache pulsing through them as they screeched in protest. Even her stick was not enough to make it bearable. Her bag dropped to the ground with a thud and she knew instantly that she was going downhill rapidly. There was nothing she could do but slump against a wall and try to regain her energy, but it wasn't going to work. She needed to go home and sleep, but she had come too far away to make it back. Fear and stubbornness had got the better of her again.

Her legs couldn't hold her weight much longer, and the grey sky and buildings were beginning to blur in and out of focus; it was almost like she was falling asleep, but it was more than that, and she was all to aware of it. She fell to the ground, her soft cheek hitting the frozen ground.

Her last thought before consciousness escaped her was that her identity was in her bag, and she only hoped the person who happened across her remained oblivious to it. She did not want UCOS and the Americans finding her. 'Please, God,' she silently prayed, unsure of whether she believed she would be heard. 'Please don't let them find me. Please don't make me go through that.'

* * *

 **Please feel free to review and tell me what you think!  
Sarah x**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. I only just had the time to finish this chapter today, so I hope it lives up to what it's meant to be.**

 **As always, thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing!**

 **Sarah x**

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Sandra sat at her desk, wondering whether to make a public appeal or not. Jocelyn obviously had the intelligence to run when she was spooked, but options were running out quickly. Gibbs was becoming a right pain in her arse, too; Fornell and Ziva were the only things keeping him in line. And not to mention DiNozzo, whose attitude problem seemed to respond only to Ziva and Tim. Fornell informed her, when asked about the subject, that Gibbs and DiNozzo were only this difficult because Jenny Shepard's name had been brought into this. But, as she had said to Gibbs last night, she knew what it was like, to be lied to again and again.

Gerry, Brian and Jack were clutching at straws, hoping they were attached to leads. Gerry was 'casually' ringing around Lambeth's small shops, bakeries and the like, asking to speak to Jocelyn Sharpe, in the hope she worked in one of them. Brian was taking the approach that Strickland would object to if he knew about it; he and Jack were out talking to her neighbours, to see if they had anything helpful to add. Strickland hadn't wanted to freak Jocelyn out, but at this point, it probably wasn't going to make much difference. The Americans, however, were raking through their pasts for anything at all that Jenny might have said or done that could lead them to her twin, and making lists. They'd been at it for about an hour, but she didn't know what progress they had made.

And, just to make things that little bit better, Strickland was now striding towards her office with both purpose and confusion. She hated it when he did that. He didn't knock or even ask to come in; he simply walk into her office and closed the door behind him. It was another thing she hated.

"Sandra," he breathed, like he had been running all the way here until he reached the squad room doors. "Jocelyn Sharpe is in the Emergency Department in St. Thomas' Hospital. Lambeth. She was found collapsed in the middle of the street. The ward sister recognised her from the original investigation."

Sandra stood up and went for her coat with no hesitation. "Have they approached her?"

"No. They thought it would be better if the police dealt with her."

"Oh, good," Sandra smiled. "A member of the public who has their wits about them. I'll take Gerry, Jack and Officer David," she added. "I have a feeling that taking McGee, Gibbs and DiNozzo wouldn't be wise, and I need Fornell to keep them occupied." Strickland nodded in agreement, moving aside to let Sandra pass. "Gerry, Jack, Ziva, with me, please!" she called as she walked through the squad room.

As much as she wanted to be open and honest, she could not justify upsetting Gibbs with the news right now; she had seen just how raw Jenny's death was for him, and that her twin sister – the one she failed to mention to everyone she loved – was alive was something that needed to be broken gently. Now was not the time, and Sandra wanted to speak to Jocelyn before speaking to Gibbs, anyway.

In all honesty, it wasn't even Gibbs she was protecting. She was protecting the case; last night, he had been all set to burst down Jocelyn's front door, all guns blazing. If he really did react like that in front of Jocelyn, and if she was even remotely capable of running, she would be gone like a bat out of hell and they wouldn't be able to get to the bottom of why she was hiding, or help her if she needed it.

After all, who hides for no reason?

Jocelyn, maybe. But maybe not. She was definitely attempting to hide, but maybe she had a reason that they just didn't know about yet.

Gerry, Jack and Ziva were soon enough piled into the car with Sandra, who opted to drive. She didn't really trust Ziva's driving. Her skills were more suited to a war zone, where, admittedly, she probably learned them. Here, she would probably only end up arrested. Funnily enough, Sandra actually liked Ziva. She felt for her, too. Jenny had been her best friend, and yet she was discovering she had known very little about the woman. It was the same with Gibbs. Jenny seemed to have left a whole trail of destruction, lies and secrets behind her.

"Where are we going, Detective Superintendent Pullman?" asked Ziva.

"St. Thomas' Hospital," she replied, looking in the rear view mirror to see her face, and that of Gerry, who sat next to her. "Jocelyn Sharpe has been admitted. She collapsed on the street."

"She was running. Just like her sister," Ziva muttered. "She will only run again, as soon as she sees us."

"She can try, but I don't think the ward sister is going to let her discharge herself without a fight."

Ziva fell silent, and the men remained silent. This was a draining case. The potential politics involved were frightening; she was in half a mind to call the Director of NCIS herself, but what would she say? She had no explanation yet. All she had was a location.

Before long, they were in the Emergency Department, at the front desk, and Sandra was showing her police ID and introducing her companions. The ward sister who called it in soon met them, and it was obvious she did not take any prisoners. She was middle aged, about Sandra's age, with light brown hair and dark green eyes. At least the height of Ziva, she was broad-shouldered and wise-looking, but with that air of ferocity that Sandra herself often held around her. She had been right – Jocelyn was not going anywhere.

Together, they were led to a side room, where Jocelyn was lying on a bed with an IV in her arm, just staring at the ceiling. What was she thinking? Well, they were about to find out, weren't they? "She's fit to speak to you," the ward sister told them, "since she's fit to demand to leave, but go easy on her. She's pretty weak."

"Thanks," smiled Sandra.

She took a breath. This was the turning point of the whole case. It determined whether it was a family matter, personal matter or US federal matter that made Jocelyn run. If, of course, Jocelyn decided to tell them the truth.

So in they walked, to confront an ill woman about...well, they weren't even sure of that yet. When they entered, Jocelyn's eyes scanned through their faces, until she reached Ziva, who trailed behind them. On the Isreali's face, Jocelyn's eyes were fixated. "Ziva," she breathed, before her green eyes widened like she had spoken a disgusting, forbidden word.

Sandra looked at Ziva; she was taken aback, frightened, even. Ziva had said she had never known Jenny had a sister, let alone met her, so how did Jocelyn know her face, or even her name? "Can I have a word outside, please, Officer David?" Sandra asked, dragging Ziva by the arm onto the main ward.

Once out of Jocelyn's earshot, Sandra started her interrogation. "You told us you didn't know Jocelyn even existed!" she hissed at the young woman. "You told us you had no connection to her, other than that you were her sister's friend. You could have just jeopardised the whole investigation!"

"I do not know her!" Ziva insisted. "I did not lie to you, Superintendent. I do not know Jocelyn. I only know – knew – Jenny. Or I thought I did! Maybe I knew nothing about her!"

"Then how the bloody hell does she know your name? What you look like?!"

"I do not know!" Ziva's face was growing more and more uptight, and Sandra didn't know whether or not to believe a fully trained liar. "I am as confused as you are! Perhaps Jenny told her about me. Perhaps she has seen a picture of me. I just _do not know_!" she half-shouted, hitting her palm with her fist with every one of those last three syllables.

She was genuine.

Ziva was not lying. Sandra was able to trust that now that she was visibly upset; the girl was normally quite stoic. "Alright," Sandra sighed, rubbing Ziva's arm gently. "Calm down. It's OK."

"It is not, though, is it?!" Ziva demanded. "This is not OK."

"It will be," Sandra found herself saying. "I promise you, Ziva, one way or another, this will work out."

Her common sense berated her for promising Ziva anything at all, because in the back of her mind, she knew she had no way of knowing what was about to happen. How could she? Every single time they have thought they'd been getting somewhere, there was a snag. A curveball, as DiNozzo would have put it. So what was she doing, promising Ziva David that it was all going to work out? Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

But she didn't let this show on her face. She made sure she didn't let Ziva see her own doubt, but she didn't know how good Ziva was at reading her yet. She was, after all, a Mossad agent, so was bound to have some decent observational skills. She was not naive. Sandra knew Ziva would not be as innocent as her years would suggest, but she had this gut feeling that Ziva was an inherently good person, and she was choosing to trust her own gut.

"Are you OK to come back in?" Sandra asked, making the quiet decision not to throw Ziva off the case.

Ziva only nodded her head, and Sandra smiled. The girl was tough.

* * *

 **Please feel free to tall me your thoughts!  
Sarah x**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hello! Again, a strange chapter. Just don't hate me!**

 **Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far.**

 **Sarah x**

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The woman was fragile-looking, but even so, she reminded Ziva of Jenny. Jocelyn was identical to her – not surprising since they were identical twins, but still it was unnerving. "Ms. Sharpe, I'm Detective Superintendent Sandra Pullman. This is Jack Halford, Gerry Standing and Ziva David," Sandra said, while Ziva was painfully aware of two pairs of eyes studying her behaviour. "Are you aware that you were reported missing in May of last year?"

Jocelyn stared through Sandra, just like Jenny used to do to Gibbs, and to Ziva and anyone else who dared question her. It sent a chill through Ziva; she had not seen that look since they were in Los Angeles the day Jenny died. "No, I wasn't aware of that," Jocelyn retorted. Ziva listened to her carefully. For an American who spent so long in the UK, her accent was not particularly tainted. Even Ziva now had flashes of an American accent now and then, but Jocelyn still sounded very American.

"That's funny," Gerry chipped in, though Ziva knew it was in fact anything but funny.

"Funny how?" challenged Jocelyn, her tired green eyes flashing dangerously.

"Well, since you moved in May, you left nothin' behind you. Even when you got ill on Halloween, you moved house soon after. Why run if you didn't know you were missing?" he explained. "And today, when we called round, you did a runner again, didn't you? That's how come you ended up here."

Jocelyn sat up slightly with a look of determination. "I was going on vacation."

"Where?" Sandra quickly demanded.

"Scotland."

"Where in Scotland?" Ziva asked. She had been there and knew that none of the cities were less than about three hours apart. Jocelyn looked thrown, and that in turn threw Ziva. "What region?"

"The Highlands," Jocelyn said.

"What were you going to do there?"

"Relax."

"Why the Highlands?"

"It's pretty."

"And sparsely populated."

Their back and forth abruptly ended when Ziva ultimately uncovered Jocelyn's intention to run and hide. How Jocelyn thought she would never be found was beyond Ziva. Did she think she would just blend in? Melt into the crowd?

Sandra was staring into Jocelyn's face, trying to work out what the redhead was thinking. "How do you know Officer David?" she asked.

Jocelyn was quicker this time around. Like she had premeditated her answer. "My sister worked with her in the Middle East, years ago. And then they worked together in Washington for three years before Jenny went and got herself killed. Jenny told me all about Ziva. She loved the girl dearly."

Ziva had to look at the floor. How could Jenny have loved her if she never was honest with her? It was all just a lie. Ziva had known next to nothing about Jenny, really. She had never been told a thing anyone else hadn't already known. Why didn't Ziva see it? She was known to be somewhat like a human lie detector, but she hadn't known her best friend was lying to her, all those years. She felt betrayed. Not that she would ever admit it, of course.

"I see," Jack nodded his head, ever so gently. "So, Jenny...do you miss her?"

"More than you can imagine," Jocelyn smiled sadly.

"It must be hard, losing your twin so violently. I mean, she was pretty much assassinated, wasn't she?" Jack said, fairly casually. The memory shot through Ziva's mind, the sight of Jenny lying in a pool of her own blood burned into her brain forever. Jocelyn looked down, while Sandra glared Jack a warning to shut up about the subject of Jenny's death. "Oh, so you knew about that?"

"I'm her sister. Of course I knew!"

"Funny, that," Gerry pointed out once again. "According to Special Agent Gibbs, only a handful of people knew the truth of how your sister died, and you ain't one of them!"

Jocelyn drained white at the mention of Gibbs' name. She was pale already, but now she looked like she'd been warmed up from the dead.

"Jocelyn," Ziva found herself softly saying. "Is there something you need to tell us? Something we can help you with?"

"No." The answer was definite, yet Jocelyn seemed unsure. "You've found me. I'm safe. You've done your job, DSI Pullman. You can sleep easy tonight." It was clear that Jocelyn wanted rid of them all, but Ziva wanted to know why she didn't want to be found in the first place. There was something she was hiding from them. "I would appreciate it if you would leave me alone to recuperate now."

Ziva sighed. Jocelyn was as stubborn as her twin sister had been, and there was only so far anyone was ever able to get with Jenny Shepard. "Ms. Sharpe," Sandra began again. "If there is something threatening your safety, we can try and help you. But you have to co-operate with us."

"I don't _have_ to do anything."

"No, no," Sandra held her hands up. "No, it's a free country. But you see, Jocelyn, I have four people back at Scotland Yard, and of course, Ziva, here, who were very close to your sister. You're the only connection they have to the friend they lost in May, and, believe it or not, they would rather not have you in danger."

To Ziva's horror, Jocelyn started to laugh. "Nobody knew Jenny. Not really. She was a brilliant liar. And she followed Gibbs' rules, so she made sure no-one never knew her."

"How do you know about Gibbs' rules?" demanded Ziva, shaken that the hallowed practice of following Gibbs' rules was known outside of her circle.

"Jenny told me. She was particularly fond of four and eighteen. And twelve. Though I think that was more the irony of Gibbs breaking his own rule that amused her about twelve."

"She lived by four and eighteen," Ziva smiled slightly, as much heartache as it caused her to remember Jenny's almost obsessive adherence to rules four and eighteen. She looked around at the UCOS team and found them looking completely bewildered. "Gibbs teaches us this set of rules he has," Ziva explained to them. "Long before I met her, Jenny trained under Gibbs, so she learned them all, too. Tony, McGee, Abby, Ducky, Jenny, me...we all know the rules. Sometimes we will bend them but we rarely ever break them."

How many times did Gibbs get wound up because Jenny used his own rules to get her own way, to get around him? Too many, Ziva thought.

Silence fell, and Sandra exchanged a look with Ziva. The blonde looked confused, worried, and so was Ziva. How much had Jenny told her sister about their lives, their work? Were they in danger? And why was Jocelyn letting them know that she knew anything at all about them?

It was then that Jocelyn lost her patience and got out of her bed, saying to them, "I've had enough of this now. Get out, please. Just get out."

She was unsteady, so Ziva reached out to stabilise her, but Jocelyn's weak legs collapsed and gave up before Ziva could reach her. She heard Sandra shout for the nurse while Gerry and Ziva helped Jocelyn back into bed, Jocelyn protesting that she was fine all the way. While Ziva was swinging her legs around, Jocelyn's hospital gown rode up a good few inches above her knee. What Ziva saw there changed everything, and confused her completely. Now nothing was right. Nothing made any sense.

What was she meant to do? Speak up there and then? Wait until they left and risk Jocelyn running again? Ziva didn't want to stress out an already sick woman, but that woman was not doing anything to avoid stress, either. She just didn't want to make anything any worse, but it wasn't going to get better.

Pretending to be as out of breath as Gerry, she joined him in leaning against the wall, her hand on her chest as she feigned heavy breathing. "What's wrong with you?!" grumbled Gerry, who really was breathless. "You're a healthy, fit young woman!"

Ziva waited until the ward sister was deep in conversation with her patient, and Sandra and Jack were absorbed by that same telling off Jocelyn was getting before she said a single word. She didn't want Jocelyn to know that she had worked it out.

"Come on," Gerry said quietly. "You're worrying me now, Ziva."

Ziva turned and searched Gerry's bright blue eyes. Was he trustworthy? Could she tell him? Sandra trusted them all – Gerry, Brian and Jack – so wasn't that good enough for her? Would it be good enough for Gibbs, Tony, McGee and Fornell once they knew about it, and they knew Ziva told Gerry first?

It was just going to have to be.

So Ziva beckoned him closer and leaned into his ear, covering her mouth with her hand so that nobody could have a hope of hearing or reading her words.

She whispered her words so quietly that she almost worried Gerry wouldn't hear them himself.

"That is not Jocelyn Sharpe. But I know who it is."

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 **Please feel at liberty to drop me a review and tell me your thoughts!  
Sarah x**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Welcome to the complicated bit.**

 **Thanks as usual to everyone who is reading and reviewing!**

 **Sarah x**

* * *

Gerry stared at Ziva. "What the bloody hell are you on about, Ziva? 'Course that's 'er. We've just worked our arses off finding her, for God's sake!"

"It isn't," she insisted. "Trust me."

"Why? Why should I trust you?"

"Because I know that woman, and it is not Jocelyn." Ziva was convinced, and Gerry knew it. "Listen to me, Mr. Standing," she pleaded with him, looking him straight in the eyes. The dark eyes he stared back into were dark, hurt and confused, and he couldn't deny that something really had thrown the young woman. "She is not Jocelyn. She has two scars on her thigh, and I know where both of them came from. One was when I rescued her in Egypt. The stab wound. The other is a bullet would she sustained with Gibbs on that Czech mission in the nineties. _Trust me_."

Gerry was flummoxed. He knew was Ziva was trying to tell him, but logically, it couldn't be right, could it? It didn't explain who died in the desert last summer. It didn't explain how nobody worked it out for eight months. It undid all they had managed to figure out. "Then whose body did you find in California, Ziva?!" he hissed at her. He understood that longing for it to be the other sister, he really did, but it couldn't be her. "I know you want answers and all the rest of it, but that ain't the woman who can give you what you want."

He caught Sandra eyeing him with suspicion, and moved his head towards the door. "Um, Jack, can you stay here with Ms. Sharpe, please?" Sandra asked of the oldest man in the room, before leading them out to the main ward again. "What?!" she demanded of Gerry, who was so used to her behaviour that he didn't bat an eye anymore.

"Ziva has something she wants to tell you."

Sandra looked surprised, to say the least, and Ziva looked a bit scared. Gerry knew she was a highly trained Mossad assassin, and Sandra wasn't _that_ scary, so what the hell was so terrifying? "I do not think that is Jocelyn," Ziva said quietly.

"What?!" Sandra said again. "But it has to be! I mean, it all fits."

"She has two scars on her legs, Superintendent," Ziva explained. "I was with her when she sustained one of those wounds. It is not Jocelyn. It is Jenny."

"Ziva," Sandra sighed; Gerry had a feeling Sandra had almost expected this. She didn't look surprised that Ziva did not want to believe that it was Jocelyn. Had she really been hoping that they had found the wrong twin? "I know you want to see Jenny one last time, and I know you want it to be her, but it's not."

But Ziva laughed. A bitter, resentful laugh. "I do not want Jenny to be alive. It would mean she has lied to me yet again, and that she has suffered more than she needed to. It would mean she has lied rather than ask Gibbs for help. And it would mean Ducky has lied to us all, too, because there is no way he would have missed that!" Ziva ranted at them. He was surprised by her honesty. "Do not tell me what I want, DSI Pullman."

Sandra sat down in one of the nearby chairs, and Gerry could see she was stressed out over this, more than she was going to let Ziva see. But Gerry knew Sandra like the back of his hand. He knew that look on her face, so he sat down next to her and surreptitiously placed his hand on her back, just to remind her she wasn't going to have to figure out this case all by herself.

"If this is Jenny, and you're positive it's her," Sandra said, looking up at Ziva, "then we have to get uniform down here to make sure she doesn't run. Not that I think she's capable of running very far, but you can't be too careful." Ziva nodded in appreciation that there was someone willing to hear her out. "I need you to go back in there with Jack until I get a uniformed officer in. I've got to go back to the office with Gerry, but I'll make sure uniform take you and Jack back to Scotland Yard with them, alright?"

"And in the meantime," Gerry added, "don't go telling Gibbs or the others what you've told us. We'll deal with 'em."

When Ziva nodded again and obediently strode back into the side room, Gerry had to watch Sandra finally deflate a little. He always found it strange, how the most brutal cases didn't bother all that much, but the ones where everyone has been lying to one another really got to her. "Come on," he found himself encouraging her. "Let's get back and tell 'em all the developments."

Together they stood up, and Gerry wondered if Sandra was going to be able to keep going with the case for much longer. Well, of course she was capable of it. But how long would it be before the web of lies and deceit got the better of her? And when she stopped outside the hospital, he had his answer: not long.

"Gerry, I don't _want_ to investigate this."

"Why?" he asked her, stopping on the pavement and looking at her intensely. He saw the tiredness in her eyes.

"I..." she tried to begin, but didn't get anywhere. "It's too close to home." Gerry was stunned. He'd never seen her want to quit a case before. "Their medical examiner has done to Gibbs and Ziva what my mother did to me. Lied about their loved one's death. NCIS themselves lied about how Jenny really died. They told the world she died in a house fire, but the way they've put it, I think she went and got herself killed rather than face becoming more ill."

Gerry watched her face lose its colour and finally realised why she was coming to hate this case. It reminded her of her father, the truth about whom she had not known for most of her life. He didn't know what to say. He never knew what to say on the subject of Sandra's father, for fear of hurting her. That was his worst fear – hurting Sandra. Well, that and forests.

She was such a beautiful and flawed woman, and he couldn't entertain the idea of losing her. So he gently pulled her close, holding her in his arms with his cheek against hers, trying to comfort her without words, because he didn't have any. He knew he had done the right thing when her arms wrapped around him, and she let her face fall into his shoulder.

He rubbed her back and sighed slightly. Sandra's problem was the same as his own. She tried to be too strong, but never for her own benefit. Gerry would never admit as much, but he held a great deal of respect and love for Sandra Pullman. He was glad she had unwillingly dragged him out of retirement to break his balls every day. She was someone he loved to be around, even when she was being a moody cow, even when she was strict, even when she was hurting.

And she _was_ hurting.

Gerry couldn't comprehend how the parallels with the case were making her feel. He could only do his best to support her.

Her heart was bigger than she allowed the world to see.

He released her and put his hand lightly on her back as they made their way to the car. It was strange for her to let him show her that support and comfort, but he didn't mind giving it to her.

Once Sandra started the car and pulled off, she seemed to almost be driving on auto-pilot. "How are we going to tell Gibbs, Tim, DiNozzo and Fornell, Gerry? They're going to hit the bloody roof. I can guarantee we'll have to stop Gibbs marching down to the hospital with Fornell and DiNozzo at his tail."

He say her dilemma. She couldn't very well go and lie to them, but he had seen enough of those Americans to know they wouldn't react as reasonably as their Israeli friend. Ziva seemed actually to be the most rational one of them, apart from perhaps Timothy, whose head was buried in a computer half the time anyway – a bit like Brian, really.

He did not have the answer. He wished he did, because it would make all of their lives a little easier if he knew exactly what to do, but he didn't. The only thing he could come up with was to tell Strickland before telling the Americans, but how could they be sure Ziva hadn't gone and told Gibbs anyway, despite being told not to? And he didn't really trust Strickland not to make a bigger mess of it.

They stopped at traffic lights, where there was a fairly long queue in front of them, and Sandra turned to Gerry and smiled. "What would I do without you?"

"You'd be less tempted to commit murder every day, for a start," he grinned.

She laughed quietly, but did not deny that fact. "We'll just have to come out and say it," she decided. She didn't sound happy, but she was right – there was little else they could do until the Americans knew there was a possibility that they had just found the dead sister, not the missing one. To prove it, they were going to need a fingerprint match, and it was probably the people back in Washington who had access to Jenny Shepard's records.

Gerry had questions, too. For instance, why was it not flagged up that Jenny's body had no distinguishing scars? Why was there no DNA or fingerprint matching done at the time?

And as for their medical examiner...what the bloody hell had he been playing at, falsely identifying the body of someone he considered a close friend and colleague?

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 **Please do feel free to tell me your thoughts!**  
 **Sarah x**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: This is a bit of a focus on Tony's feelings, and how it brings him to treat other people.**

 **Thanks to all who are reading and reviewing.**

 **Sarah x**

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Tony stared at the list that he and the rest of the team had drawn up. It was practically a list of everything they remembered Jenny Shepard ever saying to them and doing with him. Even Gibbs had been unbelievably open. And yet, there was no mention of a sister or a mother, or a family history of illness. Only Jenny's father, and to this day, there was doubt about what was written on the man's death certificate. That said, Jenny had definitely displayed signs of mental illness during the last two years of her life. He had seen it. At points, she had been out of control. Completely and utterly out of control.

He didn't know why he cared about the safety of Jenny's sister. Maybe it was because Jocelyn was the last link left to a woman Tony ultimately cared about, despite their differences and despite Jenny's fatal flaws. Or maybe he just wanted to do his job. He wasn't totally sure.

His phone beeped and brought him back to the small, enclosed British police office. A text message, from Ziva: _I am staying out with Jack. Sandra and Gerry are going back to you. I will see you soon. Keep calm. Z._

Confused, he didn't reply and he put the phone away. What did that mean? Keep calm? What was going on?

He glanced over at Brian Lane, who hadn't spoken a word to them in the time DSI Pullman had been away. He just poured over records, books and his computer, and it was very easy to forget he was there.

"Everything OK, Tony?" McGee asked him. He looked at Tim's soft face and sighed inwardly. Of course he wasn't about to rant at McGee like he wanted to, about cryptic messages and lies.

"Sure, McGeek," Tony grinned, hoping McGee was going to believe it. But he couldn't help himself. He was frustrated and angry. "Unless you count the fact we're on foreign soil, we're not in charge of this case, Jenny Shepard has lied to us again, DSI Pullman isn't telling us anything, we don't know where Ziva is, and we still can't find the twin sister we never knew Jenny had, it's all peachy."

"Pullman's only doing her job," Gibbs grumbled, heading for the kettle. "Is there no real coffee in this damn place?!" he demanded, and Tony could see Gibbs was struggling with the situation as much as he was. Only McGee seemed reasonably calm, and Ziva was saying very little – but it was Ziva, which probably meant she was feeling just as great as everyone else. "Jeez! I'm goin' out!" Gibbs shouted, grabbing his coat. Fornell, who was as silent as Brian at this point, followed Gibbs instinctively, probably knowing he shouldn't walk London alone when he was so wound up.

"For what?!" Tony demanded.

"Coffee!"

Tony sighed and sat down in one of the chairs, knowing better than to try and stop Gibbs going anywhere he wanted to go. Once Gibbs was out of hearing range, Tony began to speak. "McGee," he called out, still quiet despite Gibbs being away from the office by now. "Ziva and Jack aren't coming back with Pullman and Gerry."

"What?!" McGee said, turning his chair around to face them. "Where are they, anyway?"

"No idea. But Ziva wants us to 'keep calm,' whatever that means."

"Bad news," Tim wisely advised him. Tony hated to believe it, but maybe he was right. Maybe Sandra and Gerry were coming back here with bad news. "But you're right. Ziva's God only knows where. We're in another country. We're powerless. Nobody in UCOS trusts us. Jenny's left a mess behind her, by the look of it. We don't know where Jocelyn is yet, either. Whatever it is, it can't be worse than this."

Tony laughed. He couldn't help it. It was the anger, the rage, coming out in him. "Don't count on it, Tim. This was Jenny Shepard's work, remember? It can get so much worse than this."

"You've still not forgiven her, have you?"

Tony stood up, his feet taking him to McGee without being told to do so. "You weren't there, McGee!" he yelled. "You didn't find her body, lying in a pool of her own blood! You didn't have to watch Ziva struggle with it! You didn't have to go against everything you knew about Jenny and go and look for her! I knew we were walking into trouble in the desert last year, Tim, and you know why?!" he shouted. He didn't let McGee answer. "Because I knew whose trail we were following! Jenny fu-"

"Special Agent DiNozzo!" a female's voice cut above his before he could curse a dead woman's name. "Shut up and bloody well sit down!" Tony turned on his heel to find Pullman and Standing taking off their coats; Sandra's face was pale, and he had to wonder what she was thinking. Gerry, meanwhile, looked like he was bracing himself for a nuclear explosion. But even though her face was tired, Pullman looked as intimidating as ever. So, unwillingly, he sat down in the same chair as before.

"Where's Ziva?" was Tony's first question.

"Where's Special Agent Gibbs?" Sandra shot back at lightning speed.

"Getting coffee," McGee supplied. "Don't wanna see Gibbs without his coffee."

Tony eyed the two Brits with suspicion. "Ziva?" he asked again.

Sandra smiled slightly at him. It was a smile, but it wasn't. It was sad, sympathetic and full of trepidation. "She's with Jack. Don't worry, he'll look after her."

"It's not Jack I'm worried about," McGee chipped in. "Where did you take her?"

Tony was unnerved by the look Sandra and Gerry exchanged at hearing the question. It didn't feel right. They knew something, and they clearly didn't want to tell him or McGee. "We'll explain it all when Jethro comes back," Sandra said to them. "Not to mention Fornell. And I'll get Strickland down. I don't want to have to go say it more than once. In the meantime, though, you can get your forensic scientist to call my office."

"On it," McGee said before Tony could. She strode into her own office and shut the door. " _Jethro_?" McGee mouthed at Tony, who could only shrug. Who the hell cares what Pullman was calling the boss? Surely there were bigger things to worry about. However, Gerry's disgruntled looked at the realisation that the two in charge were already on first name terms gave Tony something to distract himself with.

"So how long have you known DSI Pullman?" he asked Gerry, who was sitting at his desk, logging into the computer.

He shrugged, obviously trying to be casual about it. "'Bout six years."

"How long have you loved her?" Gerry's head snapped up and Tony smirked at the knowledge he had hit a nerve. "I'm surprised she hasn't noticed. Or maybe she has and is just ignoring it," he continued. What was he doing? What was this sadistic satisfaction that he got from almost taunting Gerry? The man had never done him wrong before, so why did enjoy it? What was happening to him? Was he really that bitter and angry?

They heard Sandra's phone ring, and Tony knew it had to be Abby.

"Look, sunshine," Gerry snapped, "now ain't the time or the place. You don't know Sandra and, believe me, this case is probably as tough on 'er as it is on you lot, OK? And if she comes out 'ere and catches you talking about her, she'll wear your balls for earrings."

"Gerry's right, mate," Brian spoke to him for the first time all day. "She's threatened 'im with it often enough. And you don't want to piss Sandra off, any road. You'll be the one coming out worse off."

At that moment, Fornell and Gibbs returned, and Deputy Assistant Commissioner Strickland was close at their heels. What was it with the Metropolitan Police and their long-winded rank titles? Strickland knocked on Sandra's door and Gibbs said what he usually did – nothing. But when Strickland returned looking troubled, and Sandra was with him, Tony just knew something big had happened.

"Everyone sit down," Sandra told them. Even Strickland did as she said, and he looked worn and exhausted so suddenly. But Gibbs refused. Tony watched as he held Sandra's gaze, but she would not back down. For some reason, she didn't want Gibbs near the door. "That means you as well, Jethro."

She won in the end; how was it that Sandra had Gibbs pegged already?

"We thought we found Jocelyn," she began. "A nurse at St. Thomas' Hospital called it in. We got there, and it was Jocelyn. Or so we thought. Ziva spotted two scars on her legs, and is convinced it isn't Jocelyn. So, I'm going to get uniform to take her prints, and we'll get your forensic scientist to run them and see what she comes up with. And if Ziva is right, I want words with your medical examiner."

"Who does Ziva think it is, then?" Brian asked.

But Tony already knew what Ziva thought. And, honestly, he trusted her judgement. Even if what she had deduced was almost impossible, he believed she was probably right. And, after all, he was beginning to believe there was nothing Jenny Shepard wasn't capable of.

"She thinks it's Jennifer Shepard."

Tony and Gibbs looked at one another, and McGee and Fornell shared a worried look. Was it him they were worried for? Or Gibbs? Or both of them? It was almost predictable, but Gibbs stood up, kicked the waste paper bin out of the way and stormed out of the door. It seemed the only person who didn't know it was going to happen was Brian.

"What's the matter with 'im?"

* * *

 **Please tell me your thoughts!  
Sarah x**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Thanks to every reading and reviewing!**

 **Sarah x**

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Gibbs' feet were taking him unconsciously away from the office. He wanted to believe Sandra was lying, but he couldn't doubt that look on her face; she obviously hated this idea as much as everyone else did, but if those scars really were on those legs...it had to be Jenny. But had she changed so much that the only thing that gave her away to Ziva was her scars? Was she still Jenny? Or had she changed beyond anything he'd ever known her to be?

Halfway up the second flight of steps, he heard the voice of Sandra Pullman calling after him. "Jethro!" she shouted; he heard the clicking of the heels on her boots hitting each step as she caught up with him. "Don't you dare! Just don't!"

He turned round and glared at her, but it did no good. Why wouldn't it work on her?! "I can tell you if it's Jenny with one conversation," he asserted, convinced he was right.

"Fingerprints can do the same thing," Sandra pointed out. "You are _not_ jeopardising _my_ case, Gibbs. I won't let you spook her before I even work out what I can hold her on."

Wasn't it obvious? He had done before himself, to that man who had let them know ARES was for sale. Only to be pulled into another of Jenny's messes, of course. "Immigration charges. Jocelyn's the one with the British passport, not her sister."

And yet Sandra's face was adorning an expression of wonder and amazement at his underhanded tactics. Of course, that meant Jenny might have been deported and possibly prosecuted for masquerading as her sister so she could stay in the UK. On the other hand, though, for her to be in hospital for the second time in two and a half months, she had to be sick.

And there and then, he was back in that elevator with Jenny. He was hearing her deny that she was not unwell, but that he would be if he didn't stop pestering her. Well, actually, she had used the case for that last bit, but it had meant the same thing.

He saw the look on Ducky's face when he had worked out who he was covering for, and who he was doing medical tests on. Ducky...where did he fit into this? He was there when Jenny was shot on that Czech mission. He wouldn't have missed the absence of that scar. Which meant he must have known he had never performed an autopsy on the body of Jennifer Shepard. He had lied. He must have done. He must have watched them all grieving – joined in, even – all the while knowing Jenny had not been murdered in the desert.

Ducky. The man he trusted with his life. Ducky had been a part of this.

And what about Abby? There was blood on the clothes she tested that day. Had she known that blood was not Jenny's?

"Gibbs," he heard a female, English voice in the distance. "Jethro!" that same voice shouted at him, bringing him back onto the stairwell. He felt himself being pulled up the stairs and to the left, into what he now recognised to be a men's room. "It doesn't make sense to me, why Jenny's done this. I believe Ziva's right," Sandra told him. "I believe it's Jenny. But, I think she had her reasons. And I can tell you, she's horribly, horribly ill. Multiple sclerosis, just like her sister. Your medical examiner must have known, yes, but you don't know his motives. Let him explain."

Gibbs blinked. "You weren't the one who buried her," he said, surprised by how quiet his voice was. "Jenny was screwed up, twisted, even. But I loved her, Sandra." Why was he telling her this? Why did it matter how felt? But there was no escaping it. And that's why Sandra had to know. "Do you know what it's like, to be lied to? To find out everything you believed was a lie, and it was the people you trust who deceived you?"

Sandra stared up at him, piercing him with her bright blue eyes. He had asked the wrong question; he knew that much from her wounded expression. "Yes, as it happens," she murmured. "I found out, thirty years too late, that everyone I've ever known has lied to me. My mother, Brian, Jack, Strickland, half the bloody Met. Seemed Gerry was the only one as oblivious as me. But then when isn't Gerry oblivious?" she smiled at him.

It drew the tiniest of smiles out of Gibbs, because he knew by now what Gerry was like. A good detective, and did his best to be a good man, but sometimes he was clueless.

"Anyway, I was told a heart attack killed my father, but it was worse than that. It was suicide, when I was fourteen. And he wasn't a saint. That's why he killed himself. He had an affair, used prostitutes and he killed a man. Then he killed himself. Nobody decided to tell me until my mother had a stroke over a year ago and I found his death certificate. So, yes, Jethro, I know what it's like."

He looked at the floor. He hated it when he challenged someone to know how he felt and, somehow, they did. Made him feel like an idiot. What Sandra went through was almost the reverse of what Jenny did, aside from the fact Jenny still had no concrete answer, thanks to the CIA.

"Look, Jethro," sighed Sandra, as she pushed her blonde locks back behind her ear. "I can understand what you're going through. It messes with your head. But I need you to keep calm, for the sake of this case, so we can close it once and for all," she explained to him. "And for Tony, and Timothy and Ziva and whoever else is tangled up in this mess. And for yourself. Please, try and keep a cool head for me."

Gibbs fell back against the wall, wondering what he was going to do. He wanted to see Jenny, to get the answers he needed, and to support a probably very upset and confused Ziva, but he also didn't want to see Jenny. Just as he couldn't see her dead in May, he couldn't see her alive now.

"What will you do if she refuses to give you her prints?" he asked Sandra, looking past her and into bland white wall opposite.

"I think she'll co-operate," Sandra smiled slightly. "If you saw her today, you'd see what I saw. She's not got the energy to fight us for very long."

He didn't know what to do. It wasn't often he felt like this – the last time being when he lost his memory – but he felt like he might go into meltdown at any moment.

"Come back up to the office and drink your coffee," Sandra kindly suggested to him. Gibbs looked around at her. Why was she being so nice? Why wasn't she as angry with him as he was with himself, for missing this? For being deceived? "I'll tell you where Gerry hides his Jaffa Cakes," she added with a grin. "He thinks I don't know about them."

Jaffa Cakes. Last time he ate those things, he was with Jenny. Here, in fact, in London.

But rather than argue, he watched her open the door and followed her back to the squad room. When they got there, though, there were two more people there than they had left behind; Ziva and Jack had returned, and Jack had in his hand a brown envelope that Gibbs assumed contained Jenny's finger prints.

He watched Ziva carefully. She was motionless. Emotionless. On the surface, anyway. "Ziver," he softly said to her. Her head snapped around at the sound of her slightly mispronounced name. "You OK?"

She nodded her head, without even thinking, as she always did. "I am fine, Gibbs," she said to him. He allowed her a gentle squeeze of the arm as he passed, eyeing Fornell wearily, tired of wondering who was lying and who was truthful.

"She's confessed, Sandra," Jack said, as he sat down at his desk and gave her the envelope. "Confirmed she's Jenny Shepard, but not what she's doing here, where her sister is or why she's hiding. Only her name." Sandra looked a little triumphant, but mostly she looked like she was dreading the prospect of getting more information out of Jenny, just as they all were. Jenny was having the same effect on a stranger as she did on those who, for whatever reason, loved her. "Oh, and she wants to know if Agent Gibbs is here with Ziva. And some bloke with a daft name. Goosey? Swanny?"

Gibbs chuckled. He couldn't help himself, despite his mixed emotions for the man he considered his best friend. "Ducky. Dr. Donald Mallard."

"Well, she wants to talk to you two," Jack informed him.

And somehow, Gibbs found himself looking at Sandra, silently asking her how she wanted to proceed. "What you looking at me for?!" she demanded of him. "She's your friend, not mine!"

"Rule thirty-eight," Gibbs told her, but he forgot that she did not know these things he taught himself and those he worked with.

Before he could tell her though, Tony chipped in and said to Sandra, "Your case, your lead."

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 **Please feel free to tell me what you think! And any ideas you might have - always interested in those.  
Sarah x**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: And so Ducky has to answer some questions.**

 **Thank you, everyone reading and reviewing.**

 **Sarah x**

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A video link connected the UCOS office to the Washington Navy Yard, and three people stood in a room before them. The first was Leon Vance – the man who succeeded Jenny as Director of NCIS. He looked very stressed indeed. The second was a tall woman in Gothic clothes and almost-black lipstick, her pitch black hair tied up in pigtails. That was Abby Sciuto, the forensic scientist attached to Gibbs' team.

And then there was an ageing man, about the same age as Gerry, who dressed with a bow tie and was definitely _not_ American. Dr. Donald Mallard. Ducky. And Sandra couldn't help but think he had just worked out the enormity of the events on the other side of the pond right now.

"What did the prints tell ya, Abs?" Gibbs asked, as they all huddled around McGee's laptop.

"The woman in St. Thomas' Hospital definitely is ex-Director Jenny Shepard," she said. Despite the knowledge Sandra had that Abby had been quite upset by Jenny's death, she couldn't see any jubilation in the woman's face. "I'm so sorry, Gibbs. I don't know how I let this slip through the net."

But before Gibbs could open his mouth, Tony spoke. "Don't worry, Abby. We all trusted her. We all made the same mistake."

He was still angry. Furious.

"Apart from your medical examiner friend, of course," Gerry chipped in. Sandra smacked his chest and glared at him for opening his big mouth. He was only going to make matters much worse.

And Sandra was right. It only got Tony much more wound up. "Yeah, Ducky!" he said in a horribly forced, false and hearty tone. "What's up with that?"

"Don't, Tony," she quietly cautioned him, but he was having none of it.

"No, DSI Pullman," he retorted. "Oh, have you met DSI Pullman yet?" he asked Vance, Abby and Ducky. "And her team? Brian, Gerry and Jack?" he added, gesturing towards the older men, who somewhat nervously raised their hands. "One hell of a team. Brilliant record behind them. Kinda like Gibbs though. Not a fan of convention. That's true for you as well, though, isn't it Ducky? And Jenny."

Sandra made a face at Gibbs, silently telling him, ordering him, to reign DiNozzo in. Why wasn't he doing something? Or Ziva? Timothy, even? They were all letting Tony run riot.

Tony was rounding on Ducky again, and it made Sandra feel a bit uncomfortable. "So, Ducky? Whose body did you autopsy when Jenny pretended to die? Or did you just know it wasn't her and turn a blind eye? You're quite good at letting her run away with herself. A bit like when you let her go crazy over Grenouille."

At that, Ducky finally snapped. "You know full well I could not pull her in when it came to La Grenouille. Even Gibbs couldn't stop her."

"La Grenouille?" Jack asked, just as confused as Sandra was.

"He was a French arms dealer," Ducky explained, looking worn and fed up and frankly quite exhausted. "Jennifer risked her own life and the lives and well-being of those around her in her attempts to lay her hands on him. She was completely convinced he murdered her father, despite what the death certificate stated."

Sandra was not particularly interested in that, though, because it seemed it had no bearing on her case. And Tony seemed to share her feelings. "Anyway. Back to that day. When did you realise it wasn't Jenny's body?"

Ducky sighed, giving away to Sandra the general idea of what was coming. "I knew all along. She came home from London the day before William Decker's funeral, but, when Jennifer was supposed to be hovering somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, I got a telephone call," he explained. "It was Jennifer. She was still in London. She explained to me that she had a sister, a twin, who was dying. She told me Jocelyn was at the point that she wanted to go to Switzerland, to be able to have an assisted suicide. Painkillers were the only thing keeping that woman functioning, and the doses weren't small."

It was finally dawning on Sandra.

Ducky continued his recount of the day Jenny was meant to return to the US; "She said she had told her sister to meet me at Jennifer's home before she flew out to Los Angeles. I must say I was astounded by how alike they were. If I hadn't known otherwise, I would have said it was Jennifer I was talking to.

"Jocelyn told me she had used Jennifer's passport at Glasgow Airport and in Amsterdam, and got away with it without a problem. That she planned to go to California and die to protect her sister and..." he hesitated. Sandra found herself glaring at Ducky to continue. "To protect Jennifer and the man her sister loved." She glanced at Gibbs, who looked at the floor, probably to hide any emotion he might accidentally display. "When I spoke to Jennifer, she seemed convinced the only way to protect Gibbs was for her to die, and when I met Jocelyn, she was gravely ill. She was in a huge amount of pain and she was ready to die. It had been Jocelyn's idea. Jennifer had argued with her for two hours over it, until Jocelyn took her passport, her ID and her belongings and didn't give her the choice. She said it was only fair after Jennifer risked her life for so many years to protect her sister and the rest of the world from some of the worst monsters in existence."

All eyes were on Ducky. Even Director Vance was staring at him, awestruck by the thorough and undoubtedly truthful explanation. "So, why, when this came to light and Jocelyn went and got herself murdered," Sandra began, "didn't you say anything?"

"She swore me to secrecy. If I breathed a word to anyone, it would put Jennifer in danger. The Russians were after her blood, and Jethro's."

Ziva looked puzzled, and Sandra urged her with a small smile to speak up. "How did she know to find Mike Franks, though? How did she know what to do?"

"Jennifer gave her very strict instructions. Decker was dead, Jennifer and Jethro were next. She was to get hold of Mike Franks and tell him of the danger while masquerading as Jennifer."

It was planned. Right down to the letter, it was planned. These sisters were highly intelligent, and both were as devious as the other. It was actually terrifying, how well they had done this. Sandra could also understand why Ducky did what he did – Jocelyn was at peace and Jenny was safe. Ill, but safe. And was using the NHS with her sister's name, which was necessary so as not to give herself away. But their conditions were so similar that she got away with it.

Ducky spoke again, almost like he had read Sandra's mind. "It's worth noting that Jennifer and Jocelyn have two very different versions of the same disease. Jocelyn deteriorated rapidly, and when Jennifer became ill, we thought the same would happen to her. However, when I spoke to her over the phone that day, she was feeling fine. She seems to have relapsing-remitting MS. Her sister had the very rare type that sent her very quickly downhill. She was frequently in a wheelchair and it caused her great pain to give up that wheelchair for her last two days. That said, we discovered just before Jennifer left for London that MS has had serious effects on her mental health, for about eighteen months before she was diagnosed. Triggered, it seemed, by the emotional distress of what happened to Jethro and the subsequent consequence of him disappearing to Mexico with Mike Franks."

So, if Jenny's mental health had gone with the wind, that would explain whatever happened with the arms dealer – if that obsessive behaviour had been a symptom. Stress was a trigger, obviously, which would mean that her knowing the police were looking for her probably made her ill when her sister died.

Despite her lies, how she deceived the closest thing she had to a family, Sandra couldn't help but feel for Jenny. It sounded like Jocelyn had pretty much strong armed her into staying here in the first place. If, of course, what Jenny had told Ducky was to be believed. Sandra's gut said that that particular story was true, though, and her instincts were usually pretty reliable.

"Alright," Sandra sighed. "We're holding Jenny here on immigration charges, for now, and we'll see what she says and what Strickland and I decide to tell the CPS."

"OK, DSI Pullman," Vance spoke for the first time. "Keep us in the loop."

Abby and Ducky smiled slightly in a silent farewell before the connection was cut and McGee closed the laptop. What worried Sandra was that Gibbs had not said a single word since he had asked Abby what her results were. He had only listened. What was he thinking?

It was nearing five o'clock, and Sandra felt that both teams could do with disappearing to the pub early tonight. She hoped her boys and Fornell would give some sage and honest wisdom to Ziva, McGee and Tony, because they had had a massive shock and needed it. She, however, needed to go down to St. Thomas' Hospital and formally arrest Jenny.

"Right, you lot just call it a day and get down the pub," she ordered the seven of them. "We've all had a long day. I'm going to Lambeth to arrest Jenny for remaining in the UK without a visa." There was only one question left, and to ask it she had to turn to Gibbs. "Jethro, are you coming to see Jenny with me?"

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 **Please feel at liberty to tell me your thoughts on the chapter!  
Sarah x**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Confrontation time. Gibbs isn't a happy bunny, as you can imagine.**

 **Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing!  
**

 **Sarah x**

* * *

Sandra drove carefully, because it was about now that the temperature started to drop, leaving the roads slippier than usual. She also wanted something to concentrate on other than the presence of an extremely wound up Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He said nothing, but he did not need to say a word for her to know how he was feeling. Gibbs was going to Jenny because he felt he had to, not because he actually wanted to, and Sandra knew that.

"Jethro," she sighed, knowing she had to warn him about Jenny's condition. "I know Dr. Mallard said Jenny's MS isn't like her sister's, but right now, she's not in a good way at all." As she expected, she got nothing in reply. "So, please try and keep calm. Try not to upset her too much. Try not to hate her too much, for your own sake."

Jethro looked like he wanted to put his fist through something. He was definitely angry, and Sandra couldn't blame him for it, but she just didn't want him getting himself upset, or stressing Jenny into further illness. "You know, she nearly got killed trying to take down La Grenouille," he told her. Sandra didn't say a word; she thought it was better to just let him say these things. "Then she nearly got Tony killed, and he fell for Grenouille's daughter because of Jenny. Then Jenny was accused of murdering Grenouille, but the CIA took credit for that. Next thing you know, Jenny's dead."

Sandra sighed slightly. They'd all been put through the wringer by Jenny, so Sandra understood their feelings of resentment and anger, but she also knew Jethro loved her. "What happened to you that made you disappear to Mexico?" she asked, interested in what the trauma was that first knocked Jenny's mental health out of whack.

"Undercover mission gone wrong," he replied. "About three years ago, one of our agents was supposed to infiltrate a ship linked to a terror plot, but he was murdered without us knowing, and someone else impersonated him. Led me into the laundry compartment and got me blown to hell. Lost my memory. Thought it was 1992. Ziva helped me get some of my memory back, enough to tell them two naval ships were going to get blown up. They didn't listen and I retired."

"So," Sandra began, "Jenny thought she was going to lose you when you got blown up. Then you woke up and she thought you'd be fine. But then you've lost your memory – she's lost you again," she explained. "You get a grip of some of your memory and she's relieved that it's slowly coming back to you. And then you get up and walk away to Mexico, so she's lost you again. I can understand how that kicked off the mental health thing."

"I came back! I came back, only to find she'd assigned Tony a mission to catch La Grenouille!" he argued. "And, after Ziva was safe from the Iranians – which was why I came back up in the first place – she said she didn't want me back at NCIS!"

"Because she would rather have had you in Mexico than dead and gone!"

"But-"

"Look, Jethro, I'm not defending her," Sandra assured him. "What she's done is bad. But, I can see how she came off the rails. You weren't there. There was nothing to distract her, so she fixated herself on bringing that arms dealer in." She didn't get an answer, so she continued, "As for this mess, Jenny's not had it easy. She's been hiding all this time, so nobody figures out it's not her sister they're talking to."

Gibbs huffed slightly; it was clear to Sandra that he was in an epic sulk. "She should have just come to me and told me she was sick. Told me her sister was sick. I would have done anything I could for her."

* * *

Jenny lay in her hospital bed, feeling weaker than she'd ever felt before, and stared at the uniformed officer at the foot of her bed. He could not have been older than about twenty-two. She wondered if he realised what kind of a life he was letting himself in for.

Why did she ever allow Joyce to take this decision from her? One minute, she had been packing a bag to defend Gibbs herself. The next, Joyce had her passport and her federal ID, and was perfecting her old American accent and Jennifer Shepard mannerisms, booking the first flight from Glasgow to Washington. She hadn't been able to stop her. Gibbs and his team may have thought she was a force of nature, but Joyce was like a tornado. Always was, even when they were children.

She wondered what they – UCOS and NCIS – were going to do with her now that they all knew who she really was. Would they throw her in jail? Send her back to the US? The latter was fairly probable, she guessed. She almost expected that. And they were more than within their rights to charge her with staying here without permission, and impersonating her sister to do so. Though she hadn't needed to claim any welfare – her own life insurance policy took care of that. Another crime she could be charged with.

The door swung open, and in walked two people. DSI Pullman was followed by Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Jenny's heart leapt; she had not expected Ziva to pass on her message. And even if Ziva had told him, she knew Jethro well enough not to expect him to come with in a million miles of her. But, she loved him. She wanted to see him.

The blonde woman sent the uniformed police officer to guard the door.

"Ms. Shepard," Pullman said. "I am arresting you on suspicion of residing in the UK without leave to remain. You do not need to say anything but anything you do say can and will be held against you in a court of law."

Jenny remained calm. She didn't see any point in getting uptight over it.

"You'll be interviewed when you're fit for it, and when you've been discharged from hospital. Until then, a uniformed officer will remain here at all times. Do you understand?" asked Pullman.

"Yes," she said. Jenny deliberately kept her voice empty, in an effort to conceal her feelings from them. It was second nature, but she was quickly realising it might not always have been the right thing to do. Why hadn't she ever learned from her own mistakes? Why was it that she only learned when everything went drastically wrong?

DSI Pullman smiled slightly; Jenny found her almost impossible to read, and she couldn't help but feel it left her at a bit of a disadvantage. "I'll leave you two to it. You know where the car is, Jethro. I'll wait for you there," Pullman said to Gibbs. It surprised Jenny, to hear someone who wasn't Mike, Ducky or Fornell – or an ex-wife – call him by his middle name. It sounded very strange.

Gibbs nodded at the Englishwoman, who just smiled again and walked out of the room.

For once, Jenny didn't know what to say. What could she say? She was sorry for her behaviour, she really was, but Gibbs' attitude prevented her from saying so. That attitude was instilled in her over a decade ago, and she wasn't sure she could escape it now. It was in her. She believed it would remain in her until the day she died.

"I-" she opened her mouth to speak, but Gibbs quickly cut across her.

"Ducky explained everything."

Ducky. How much grief had he got over their secret? What had been said to the loyal old medical examiner?

"So you know why."

"Yep."

"And?"

"And I think you've been totally out of order." Jenny looked down. She had just been waiting for the riot act to be read to her. When Ziva didn't do it, she assumed Gibbs would, if he even agreed to see her at all. "You've been lying, scheming, breaking the law, running away...do you understand what we all went through in May?!" he asked her. His voice was gradually rising as he got steadily angrier. She didn't argue. She didn't see the point; she'd had enough of arguing with him over the years. How could she argue so violently with someone she loved so much? "We buried you, Jenny! We grieved for you. Tony was sent to sea. Ziva was sent back to Israel and got herself blown up. McGee was sent down to Cyber. Abby was heartbroken. And Ducky...well, he had to pretend he thought you were dead!"

His voice had become a not-so-dull roar. It made her ears ring, the volume at which he shouted. All she could do was hold her nerve and keep eye contact with him, because she didn't have a leg to stand on, and she knew it.

But Gibbs wasn't about to stop. "We had to burn down your house, and pretend you died that way, because we didn't want to let everyone know the Russians came after you!" he yelled at her. "Mike thought he was defending _you_ , not your damn sister! I'm sick of the lies! I'm tired of you taking everything too far! I'm tired of you lying and scheming rather than asking for help! I used to trust you. I used to be able to believe I could trust you with anything. Now I don't even know who you are. I'm not sure I wanna know who this is,"

Jenny said to him, her voice quite calm and dead flat, "It's me, Jethro."

He laughed. It was a horrible, sarcastic laugh, and she would never be able to forget that.

"Whoever you are now, you're not the Jenny Shepard I know."

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 **Please feel free to leave me your thoughts in a review!  
Sarah x**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Hi, guys! Sorry about the delay on this. I've just moved to Ireland and it took a lot of planning and stuff.**

 **There's a little nod towards the wonderful Alan Rickman, who sadly passed away today, in here. If you know it, you'll see it. It just felt right.**

 **Sarah x**

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Jenny lay in bed, mentally kicking herself as she stared at Gibbs. How stupid she had been, to believe in him and his ability to understand her. Had he ever been able to understand her, or was everything she thought she knew of him a lie? After all, he had lied to her for years about his first marriage and his daughter. In the aftermath of that, she had allowed herself to believe that he had learned enough from fatherhood to be able to understand her actions.

Had she just been kidding herself?

"I'm the same person I've always been. I'm still Jenny."

Gibbs snorted slightly. "Jenny or Jocelyn? Joyce? Seriously? Because I don't know anymore!"

Jenny remained silent for a moment. She herself had been almost emotionally blackmailed into this situation by her sister. Joyce believed this to be the solution to both their problems, just as their mother would have done before her, but Jenny had been less sure. In many ways, she blamed Gibbs for what happened next.

Her many years with him had taught her that she could never claim to be her sister in the presence of those who had loved Joyce – no matter what name they called her – and she had realised this the moment Joyce had gotten onto the train and left for the last time. Gibbs had taught her that she was not that person, and that she could never even go through the torment of attempting to live that lie, with those people, for the rest of her life.

That was why she had gone into hiding. She could not be the other sister, who was so similar in her mannerisms, but so different at heart. Gibbs had taught her that a long time ago, and he didn't even know it.

"And why drag Ducky into all of this?" an angry Gibbs demanded. "Couldn't you leave him out of it?"

"No," Jenny stated truthfully. "He needed to know in advance that he wasn't going to have me on his steel slab, so he didn't pursue the matter further. I needed him to dissuade Abby if she tried to dig into it, too." Jenny stared at her hands, wondering what Gibbs was thinking. She had always prided herself on her ability to read him, but she was beginning to doubt that ability. "You know, in all honesty, and for my own selfish reasons, I wish I had been the one killed in LA."

"Don't you dare say that," snarled Gibbs. "Don't you dare."  
She startled slightly at his aggression, alarmed that she had inadvertently pushed a button. "Jethro, I've watched this disease destroy my mother and sister. Do you really think I wanted to let it do the same to me? I wish I had gone back home that day, and I wish I had gone to LA instead of letting Joyce do it. It would have been easy for me to go on a suicide mission."

Gibbs didn't speak immediately. He stared at her, and she stared back. For the first time since that night in her office, having just been cleared of murder, she looked him straight in the eyes. And it was now that she realised what she had done. What she had overlooked. What she had subconsciously chosen to ignore.

Just as Jenny still loved him, Jethro still loved her. Just like her, he had never stopped.

After all this time.

Always.

Gibbs sat down in the chair beside her bed and eyed her with a storm of different emotions. He was angry, and Jenny could understand why, and he looked hurt. His eyes glowed with fury, hatred, love, pain, shock and confusion. "Do you realise what you put everyone through, Jen?"

"Yes."

"Really? You know that Tony blamed himself? That Ziva was sent back to her father for weeks? That I cried myself to sleep every night for a month?"

Jenny looked at him, stunned. Since when did Leroy Jethro Gibbs admit to such things? When did his guard take the blow that created that particular crack? Who struck that blow?

She did.

She couldn't convince herself otherwise.

And, for the first time, she felt a huge amount of remorse for what she had done. Until now she had outrun her guilt, telling herself she had done it for her twin, and so that nobody she loved had to watch her get more ill with time. But most of all, she had been hiding from the few people on this Earth who actually loved her. In doing so, she had hurt them. Now that she could see just how badly she had hurt them, she felt incomparable guilt and pain.

Her hands trembling, she reached out and touched Gibbs' hand. To her surprise he didn't pull away from her; she had expected him to, and she suspected his instinct told him to, but he remained still. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Never-"

"This is the exception," she cut across his stupid macho line about apologies being a display of weakness. "Every rule has its exception."

"Now's not the time for your smart ass comments," Gibbs snapped. "Do you even understand the trouble you could be in? The police can charge you with whatever the hell they want, and they'd have every right to! They're holding you on immigration charges! What about fraud, for a start? You've been living under someone else's name. Claiming welfare. And what about that life insurance policy your sister had?"

"Haven't claimed it yet. I have a plan for that, for when the British government wants its money back for a dead woman's welfare benefits," she ruthlessly retorted, almost snarling. "Besides, you don't think I have no savings to repay them, do you?" she snorted. "A whole life on my own, with no family to support. Trust me, there's plenty, in an account in a joint account with my sister. I'm not an idiot, Jethro. I did sort these things out, years ago."

"Could've fooled me!" grumbled Jethro.

"I got this far," shrugged Jenny. Though she did care about his opinion of her – she always would – she was beyond the point of arguing with him over it. "I don't care what they charge me with, Jethro. If they put me in prison, I don't really give a damn. It's about the worst they can do, and there's not much else I can do these days, anyway," she added, gesturing to her increasingly unreliable body. "I can do the same in prison as I can as a free woman: almost nothing."

She had managed it. She had brought the famous glare back to the surface of Gibbs' startlingly blue eyes, as he silently berated her for the defeatist attitude she was well aware she had developed. Joyce had informed her of her mental health issues many times in the two years leading up to her death, and every time Jenny had ignored her. However, she could no longer deny that her vendettas, actions, sacrifices and attitudes in these past few years were not healthy. Only now, after having it explained by her twin sister, did she recognise it as a part of her illness.

"It's up to Sandra and DAC Strickland what they tell the CPS," Gibbs told her, his voice a low rumble. "Sandra has her own way of working; I'm not sure that she wants to charge you with any crime." There was a certain kind of relief that fell over Jenny at this news, but she would not take it for granted, and she fixed her gaze upon the white sheets covering her. "I don't know what you'll do when we get you home."

Jenny's head snapped up. "What?"

"You think I'm leaving you here?" asked Gibbs, and there was a hint of annoyed disbelief in his tone.

"But you hate me," she reminded him, recalling that glint in the hurricane of his stare she had seen earlier.

"No, I'm mad at you," he corrected her. "Hell, I'm damn well furious with you. I don't know how long it'll take me to forgive you. But I don't hate you."

It took Jenny a moment to translate that into what she knew he wanted to say: the part of him that did hate her, or hated what she had done, was tiny compared to the part of him that loved her. She gripped his hand tightly; she desperately wanted to know what was going on in his head, but she knew better than to ask right now.

The door opened, and in walked Sandra Pullman. Gibbs looked up at the blonde woman with a certain softness, care, fondness, irritation and gratitude in his normally stony face. A hot flash of jealousy surged through Jenny as she remembered the days Jethro had looked at _her_ like that. There was the woman who was to decide what information she would pass on to the prosecution service, and Jenny didn't know what to make of her, or her relationship with Jethro. What had he told her? How much did he trust her? What did he feel about this woman?

She had no right to be jealous of this woman, but as she watched two sets of piercing blue eyes meet, she felt like she ought not to have been in the room, and she wondered if Gibbs had acknowledged that he was attracted to Sandra, as Sandra was to Gibbs. On that level, Jethro was still an open book, sitting there for Jenny to read.

They seemed to share a connection, like each could understand how the other was feeling. Maybe they could.

And maybe, Jenny reminded herself bitterly, it was none of her business.

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 **Please feel free to review and tell me what you think!  
Sarah x**


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